A Different Path Taken
by ChallengeOfTheDark
Summary: Between her freedom and the lives of her loved ones, Ciri always knew what she'd choose. With no other way to save them, Ciri steps into the Wild Hunt's portals, on a path that may lead to her demise...or to something unexpected. Will she find a way to escape the Hunt and defeat the White Frost? Will Eredin's ruthlessness prove to be his undoing, or will he see a different way?
1. Chapter 1 - The Battle At Kaer Morhen

**The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt fanfiction**

 **A Different Path Taken**

 _Chapter 1 – The Battle at Kaer Morhen_

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A flicker of white light escaped through the crack of the main gate of Kaer Morhen before frost crept into the splinters of the old wooden doors. They shook with renewed vigor as an unnatural, otherworldly chill reached Geralt. He could see his breath, he could feel the coldness in his very bones, but his wolven eyes remained fixated on the shaking gate. He knew what and who was on the other side of it—and he knew their plan would fail if the Wild Hunt breached the main gate.

Yennefer felt her strength fading—she had been able to maintain the shield for a while, but somehow, this wave was stronger, more powerful than all the other portals the Wild Hunt had opened combined. She panted, pushing the shield up with her last efforts—and the Hunt seemed to take note. They too increased the level of their power, and Yennefer could stand it no more.  
Her vision clouded and darkened, her legs trembling for a few moments before they gave way, and she fell against the cold pavement as her mind went blank.

Barely a moment after, the gates burst open, a wave of frost engulfing the entire inner courtyard of the fortress, stopping all in its path, turning them into unmoving silhouettes, trapped in deadly ice. Geralt had braced himself. He had been determined to face the Hunt, but his determination had been in vain. He and Eskel had been the first victims of the growing coldness, of the Wild Hunt's frost, captured, statues in the Wild Hunt's path and under Ciri and Vesemir's horrified looks.  
The old Witcher suddenly tore his yellow eyes away from his friends and looked at Ciri. She was there, in the Frost's path, staring at the whiteness before her and at the tall silhouettes emerging from the portal. He couldn't allow that. She had to flee, save herself.  
He tackled her to the ground, pulling her out of the deadly Frost's path, out of the Hunt's sight. And it turned out he did it right on time too.

Figures clad in metal armor emerged, their boots clanking against the pavement of the keep…and the first one to emerge was the navigator, Caranthir. His staff almost seemed to glow with ghastly light as he advanced, hounds at his heels and warriors following close behind him.

Vesemir peered from behind a low wall—the Wild Hunt were not headed in his direction yet. He lowered himself again, lifting Ciri's sword off the ground and gently pushing it back in the scabbard strapped to the girl's back.

"Come." He said, gently supporting her as he took up his own silver sword—which had fallen on the ground. They hurriedly passed by Eskel's frozen form.

"W-where is he…?" Ciri panted softly, turning to glance back at the frozen Geralt as Vesemir continued pulling her along. He wasn't keen on leaving Geralt, Eskel, Lambert and all their allies there, but at the same time, he was unwilling to let the Hunt get their hands on Ciri.

Brute force of steel suddenly collided with Vesemir's body—out of nowhere, one of the Wild Hunt generals appeared in Ciri's sight just as Vesemir tumbled across the pavement. Imlerith.  
But Ciri didn't get a chance to help him—or even move for that matter—before someone yanked her back by her hair, eliciting a yelp of pain from her as she reached to grab her attacker.

"You shan't escape me this time." The King of the Wild Hunt said darkly as he stepped back, keeping his concealed gaze on the fight before him.

Vesemir quickly glanced in Ciri's direction when her shouts reached his ears, only to see that the King of the Wild Hunt had captured her and was moving away towards the nearest of his open portals. He turned back towards his opponent—Imlerith—whose steel mace had almost descended on the old witcher, but Vesemir had not lost his instincts, nor his skill in a fight. He swiftly dodged out of the way, almost instantly striking at Imlerith's legs with his silver sword—but the General blocked his sword with the staff of his mace. Vesemir then tried to switch tactics, stepping sideways as he moved to strike at Imlerith's legs again, but the tall warrior once again parried. From the corner of his yellow eyes, Vesemir saw Imlerith's shield move, and he didn't wait to see its trajectory. He ducked, pushing with all his strength past Imlerith's mace and into the crevices of the armor bellow his knee, knocking him on his back.  
The witcher then instantly sprinted towards Eredin, just as Imlerith pushed himself up to his feet, piercing the ground with the lower point of his shield as he glared angrily at the departing witcher.

Ciri continued yelping and struggling in Eredin's grip as he ruthlessly dragged her, without the slightest hesitation or glance back.

But the King of the Wild Hunt had not let his guard down. He turned around just in time to see the old witcher about to strike at him—inconvenient for sure, but he was not a threat to Eredin. Only a nuisance, whose fate he could not care less about. He blocked his first upper strike—probably aimed at his head or shoulder—with ease, then pointed his sword downwards, parrying the witcher's second attack—a low strike aimed at his side.  
Perhaps unnoticed and ignored by both of them, in their fight they mirrored each other's intentions almost as much as they mirrored each other's next action: the two spun with unnatural grace and speed—but the witcher was faster than the King of the Wild Hunt.  
Eredin had only managed to turn halfway when Vesemir's sword slashed at his momentarily exposed side, and he let out a grunt, losing his grip on the object of his hunt as he spun back.

Ciri panted heavily as she fell, the pain from having her hair pulled still fresh as she tried to gather her strength. But Vesemir knew she'd have no time to get on her feet. The Wild Hunt general he had fought earlier strode towards him, having dropped his shield and mace at the same time. He was coming for Ciri, and Vesemir was intent on making sure he'd never have her. No matter the cost.

He summoned a blast of Aard, sending Ciri tumbling away across the pavement just as Imlerith's boot collided with his body, knocking him back as pain coursed through him, horrible pain, to the point the old witcher could not get up. He groaned and grunted, clutching his side as he tried to reach for his sword with his other hand, but before he could even touch its hilt, Imlerith's boot pushed hard against his wrist, causing his bones to crack underneath the pressure as his entire arm went numb with pain. He yelled, but he did not relent in his struggle.

Ciri stumbled to her feet as she unsheathed her sword, forcing herself to stand in spite of the dizziness, in spite of the feeling of weakness in her legs, in spite of the fact that she felt the ground move beneath her, she stood, preparing herself to strike at her foes, at those who threatened her life and the lives of those she loved… But the moment she looked up was the moment her eyes fell upon the King of the Wild Hunt and many of his warriors following close behind him, approaching from the darkness of a portal.  
She assessed the situation, but the more moments passed, the more she realized there was nothing she could do. She was surrounded by the warriors and hounds of the Wild Hunt, her friends were frozen and Vesemir… her gaze sought him, and it wasn't hard to spot him considering his grunting and the crack of his bones as Imlerith's steel gauntlets came in contact with his head and body.

Ciri stood helpless in the middle of the fortress' inner courtyard, staring in horror as the Wild Hunt general beat Vesemir without so much as a moment of hesitation, and without allowing him the chance to resist him, he overpowered him. She was aware of the Wild Hunt's cruelty, but she had never believed them to be quite so similar to monsters.

Through his skeletal mask, the King of the Wild Hunt watched Cirilla's desperation, he observed her fear—which, although different from the one he had seen in the eyes of all those pathetic humans before he had killed them—was still fear. And he knew he had the means to make the girl come with him, willingly.

"Imlerith!" He called to his subordinate, his dark, rough voice commanding Imlerith to pin Vesemir to the wall as the old Witcher grunted and struggled. But he was still alive.

Ciri took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down as her gaze shifted between the one called Imlerith and the King of the Wild Hunt. To her surprise, he took his mask off, and Ciri knew it was not a gesture of trust, but something entirely different. He was planning something. And Vesemir's life would depend on it, that much Ciri could tell already.

"Run!" Vesemir shouted, still struggling and trying vainly to pry Imlerith's grip away from his throat.. The Wild Hunt General was too strong, and there was no getting out of his grasp.

"Damn it, get out of here!" Vesemir cursed to himself. This was no time for her stubbornness. She had to leave, she had to run!

"She'll not abandon you." Eredin turned to Vesemir, his tone full of disdain, disgust and confidence all at once. "You humans are so…impractical." he added with smugness in his voice as he grinned and then returned his attention to Ciri, and the young woman could clearly see the malice and arrogance inside his cold blue eyes.

The growls of the Hounds of the Wild Hunt echoed all around them as they came to stand at the warriors' heels, snarling and waiting to lunge. But they too, much like their masters, had their sights fixed on the Child of the Elder Blood.

The King of the Wild Hunt then lifted his arm, holding his hand out to her, inviting her to come with him. He was clearly confident in his acts of persuasion, just as his warriors were confident in their king's tactics. None of them had made any move towards her, instead, they stood their ground, waiting for their leader's command…or for her decision.

Ciri looked around desperately; there was no way out, and no way to reach her friend in time to save him. Her gaze locked with Eredin's. This was the only chance she had at saving Vesemir, and she wasn't going to miss it. He had put his life on the line for her, but she wouldn't let him make this sacrifice.

"Ciri, no!" Vesemir yelled, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. As if he knew the decision she had taken. And Ciri wasn't surprised at that; he knew her, he had trained her, he had put up with her stubbornness and he had pushed her to overcome her limits-and she was grateful for that.

She wanted to listen to him, to do as he told her, but Ciri's decision had been made. Leaving him to die was not a choice to begin with. She allowed her sword to fall from her grasp, and it dropped against the pavement with a loud clank. She did not look at it, she did not waver. Slowly, she began walking towards the King of the Wild Hunt.  
There was no hesitation in her movements, but her bearing was full of disappointment, disillusionment and contempt toward Eredin and the Wild Hunt.

"Aargh! I forbid you!" Vesemir grunted, but it was as if his words went unheard.

Eredin's eyes narrowed as he watched Cirilla approach, and he stood there, waiting for her, certain of his victory.

And his confidence only added more to Ciri's worry; what if he decided to have Vesemir killed because he had gotten what he wanted? What if he decided to kill everyone? She hoped that wouldn't be the case. That he would at least spare Vesemir…and no one she cared about would have to die. She had come to Kaer Morhen against her better judgment, fully aware of the Wild Hunt's strength, but she had desperately wanted to believe that they could stand against them; she had been foolish, she realized. It had been the wrong decision. She had endangered everyone. Unless Ciri prevented it, it would cost many of her loved ones' lives. Unless she gave the Wild Hunt a reason to leave, and hope they would not destroy what they left behind.

She glared at Eredin briefly before she put her hand in his, only to cast a regretful glance in Vesemir's direction a few moments later. She then looked back at the King of the Wild Hunt, noticing a subtle hint of annoyance on his face.

"I want to know he's safe before coming with you." She paused, strengthening her tone as she voiced her words into a demand in a way that he would understand—that was his way after all. "I need to see him leave safely and unharmed, and only then will I come with you."

He tilted his head, narrowing his cold eyes, warning her. His persuasive gaze almost burned into her, but she would not allow herself to be intimidated by him.

"Spare his life and I'll do as you asked," She continued, staring into his cold gaze, almost expecting him to deny her request. She subtly eyed his sword, but she doubted she would have enough time to reach it and use it-or save Vesemir.

"Very well." Eredin eventually nodded his head, slowly, his eyes watching her every move. "He shall be the last thing you see before we enter the portal." He gestured towards the orb of swirling frost, and Ciri knew there was no getting out of it this time. But she was going to make sure Eredin would not go back on his word.

"Alive." Ciri looked him in the eye. "I'm coming with you, but I need to know everyone I care about will still be alive."

The King of the Wild Hunt said nothing, but he nodded subtly, and Ciri could only hope he was going to respect her conditions.

"Ciri, don't!" Vesemir shouted, but Ciri only briefly glanced at him. She had often gone against his will at Kaer Morhen, and she couldn't recall a time she had wanted to listen to him, to do as he said the way she wanted now.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Vesemir," she said painfully, stopping for a few moments to glance at the fortress she had once called home, knowing it might be the last time she ever saw it.

"Go on, Zireael." The King of the Wild Hunt ordered, gesturing towards the portal. Ciri glared, but did as she was told.

Vesemir's life was at stake, and she had no choice but to obey Eredin—at least for the time being. All she could hope was that he wouldn't kill Vesemir or anyone who mattered to her.

She walked firmly towards the swirling orb, her pace constant and her eyes fixated on the portal. The thought of going with the Wild Hunt, surrendering to them after running from them for so long angered her, frustrated her and gave her the overwhelming urge to plunge a sword through Imlerith's chest and take Eredin's head. But she had no means to escape without further endangering her loved ones.

"Goodbye," Ciri thought, but she didn't say it aloud as she stopped in front of the portal and then turned around, taking a last look at the fortress of Kaer Morhen—the place that had been her home, the place where her training and her life had truly begun. "Goodbye." Only this time she had not whispered it softly but rather out loud, not caring if Eredin or any of his soldiers heard it. Not caring about the way Eredin's lips stretched into a small smirk as a disdainful expression appeared on his stone hard face…or at least that was what she told herself. Yet, anger seemed to rise like fire inside her at the sight.

Her gaze wandered over to the retreating Wild Hunt warriors, wanting to make sure they would not hurt anyone. Then her eyes fell on Vesemir, who was still pinned to the wall by Imlerith, his grasp hard and unforgiving, as if the General was ready to snap the witcher's neck on command.

She then glanced at Eredin, her gaze pleading him to keep his promise, the desperation in her gaze reminding him of just how easily manipulated humans were when the lives of those they cared about were on the line. And as the King of the Wild Hunt regarded her, he knew leaving the old man alive was the right move to do. He was not a threat to him, only a nuisance; keeping him alive would mean he would have more control, and Ciri would be more likely to trust him and cooperate.

He turned towards his general. "Imlerith, drop him!" He ordered.

Ciri's eyes widened in shock as she briefly glanced at Eredin. She hadn't expected him to keep his word whatsoever, and she most definitely hadn't expected him to order his general not to kill. It didn't lessen her hate of him, of course, but at least this way she knew she had made the right decision to save Vesemir and the others...the ones who had almost died for her.

For a moment, she could see hesitation in Imlerith, though his fingers were still firmly wrapped around Vesemir's neck. Was he so bloodthirsty that he would disobey his king's orders? Or had Eredin put on an act just to convince her?

Her breath hitched in her throat, her gaze shifted desperately between Eredin—who had his back turned on her—and Imlerith, the one who had pursued her, the one who now looked like he was about to kill her Uncle, in spite of the deal she had just made with his King.

Imlerith peered over his shoulder just enough to look at Eredin, his King, as if to make sure this was what his leader truly wanted of him.

Ciri had never seen him do that before. The King of the Wild Hunt gave an order and all followed it, no hesitation, no second thoughts, and no reassurances. Yet, here they were, the King of the Wild Hunt and his general, exchanging glances—a general questioning his leader, and Ciri could only hope that it would be in Vesemir's favor.

But Ciri had no more patience to watch their exchange, not in this situation. She started towards Imlerith, but she had barely taken a step forward when a strong hand gripped her tightly around her arm and yanked her back.

"You told me you'd keep him alive!" She shouted, and she knew from the moment her eyes met Eredin's cold gaze that he was displeased. Normally she couldn't have cared less, but now Vesemir's fate was decided by him alone. "You promised!"

"I've promised no such thing." He replied coldly, his gaze indifferent and emotionless.

Ciri then realized...she had fallen into a trap. She, and all her loved ones were at his mercy—and she doubted he had any.

"Imlerith!" The King of the Wild Hunt signaled his subordinate. As he flicked his wrist towards the portal, Ciri could tell he had given him his final order, but whether it was the same order as before or a different one was impossible for her to tell.

The General returned his attention to Vesemir, tightening his grip—much to Ciri's horror—and his eyes began bulging, his skin started to take on a purplish-blue shade as his breath began to slowly leave him. His legs kicked back and forth, his usual controlled movements now shaky and twitchy as his strength faded away from him.

Then all of the sudden, the Wild Hunt General threw the witcher to the ground, sending him rolling over Kaer Morhen's paved and grassy inner courtyard. Vesemir grunted, attempting to stop himself, but before he could recover his strength, his body collided with the base of a wall, and then he moved no more.

"Vesemir!" Ciri cried desperately as she tried pulling her arm out of his grasp with all her strength—but it was useless. All it did was cause her pain as Eredin dragged her to the portal. She clutched his forearm, trying to stall him—or at least weaken his hold on her. "I need to see he's alright!" She shouted.

"He's alive, unless the old man died from exhaustion." The King of the Wild Hunt replied impassively, clearly irritated as he continued dragging Ciri—or the object of his Hunt—towards the portal.

"You're going to regret this!" She yelled, gritting her teeth in anger, but he only chuckled arrogantly as they entered, followed by all his warriors, all his hunters, all those who had pursued her and whom she had not managed to kill.  
The remainder of the Wild Hunt warriors followed their leader through the portals, receiving no further orders. They had captured the object of their Hunt. Their king had led them to victory.

When the sun had risen and the Wild Hunt's magic had faded, the first thing Geralt heard was Vesemir's cursing. He forced himself to move, breaking the thin ice that had enclosed him only seconds ago. He saw Lambert do the same, but his eyes instantly sought his surroundings for one person in particular: Ciri. Hearing Vesemir's pained voice and his alarmed cursing made him think of the worst-though he pushed his thoughts away as he ran over to the old witcher.

"What happened? He asked urgently, his wolven gaze shifting frantically between Vesemir and the courtyard. "Where is Ciri!?"

"They took her." Vesemir said grimly. "She's gone."

* * *

 _My first Witcher fanfiction ever :D And I have so much planned for this one, as well as for the one that I'll post soon (also Witcher). They're both set in the game but there will be some book references in the future._

 _I'd love to hear your opinions here, or on tumblr :D Good or bad, send them my way, I've always believed that constructive criticism and opinions in general help us improve, moreover, they're the best thing a writer can get :)_

 _I also made a cover image for this fanfic (and chapter), you can find the link to it on my profile since this site hates links_

 _I'll probably make a new one for each chapter because I love photo editing and I love making stuff, so I'll post the link at the beginning and end of each chapter (since don't allow for images)._

 _Last but not least, I'd like to thank Vic-of-thor and direSin, for their thorough checking, advice, suggestions and opinions on this fanfic. Thank you both._

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 _ **I do NOT own anything. I have only written this fanfic out of love and appreciation for the wonderful universe of the Witcher.  
**_


	2. Chapter 2 - The Return to Tir ná Lia

**The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt fanfiction**

 **A Different Path Taken**

 _Chapter 2 – The Return to Tir ná Lia_

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Several portals opened on the outskirts of Tir ná Lia, their blue-ish glow casting a cold light, contrasting of the reddish glow of the fading sun that now seemed more like a dying light—a promise of the soon to come end. The one all of the Aen Elle dreaded so much, the one the King of the Wild Hunt had sworn he'd stop.

And so most the important portal opened within the city walls, close to the royal stables, where few besides the stablehands and Eredin's personal cavalry usually passed by.

The King of the Wild Hunt was the first to emerge, his grip on the object of his Hunt still unforgivingly brutal and strong as he pulled Lara Dorren's descendant along.

Caranthir followed several steps behind them, with hounds of the Wild Hunt at his heels and warriors in his wake, yet his gaze too was focused on Zireael.

Ciri had not given up on struggling in Eredin's grasp. She had not given up on attempting to yank her arm out of his iron grip—yet it had all been useless. And the journey through the Frost—although not very long since Eredin had made sure they'd arrive shortly so she wouldn't freeze to death—had left her exhausted. Tired. She panted heavily, her body shaking with cold, but she still attempted to pry Eredin's hand away from her.

And then all of the sudden, the pressure on her arm disappeared, and she found herself thrown to the ground, so fast and abruptly that she barely had time to support herself on her elbows. Ciri grunted; she could see Eredin's boots, and she could feel his disdainful gaze on her. She panted heavily, her limbs numb from the cold, her body aching from exhaustion…

Eredin gave no second thought to tossing her to the ground like a rag—he had grown sick of her endless attempts to get herself out of his grasp and her incessant cursing or complaints regarding him and what he'd done to her friends. He'd done nothing to them. Yet.

A grin made its way on his lips underneath his mask as he regarded his Hunt, now in his possession, on his lands—the lands he'd make sure she'd never again escape. Satisfaction coursed through him as he looked at her, weakened, freezing, now at his mercy and yet unwilling to show weakness, but she'd soon learn obedience. And he'd be known as the King who saved his world from annihilation, the one who'd bring the Aen Elle to a new world underneath no threats…

He glanced at his warriors and gestured towards the Child of the Elder Blood, and almost as soon as he gave the unspoken order, two soldiers of the Wild Hunt grabbed Ciri by her arms and hoisted her up, holding her before their King.

She yelped from the sudden movements, yet her glare was anything but lacking in strength as she met Eredin's pale blue eyes.

"Lock her away." The King of the Wild Hunt ordered, his cold gaze bearing down into Ciri's for a few moments before he turned to face Caranthir. "She's not to be left unsupervised." And with that, he walked away with pride so clear in his demeanor, without a glance back, without remorse…without any emotion.

"You'll regret this one day, Eredin!" Ciri called after him, but he seemed to pay no heed to her. And before she could say anything else, before she could unleash her power, she saw Caranthir step in front of her, his posture determined as he held out a hand. She struggled in her captors' grasps, yet Caranthir spoke words unknown to Ciri, sending a blast of barely noticeable cold air in her direction…and she felt her limbs turn limp as her mind went blank. Everything turned to darkness.

Far in a distant world—the same world Ciri had left behind, the world she had grown most fond of—the several rays of suns pierced the clouds to shine over the fortress of the wolf.

Not long had passed since the last icicles caused by the White Frost at Kaer Morhen had melted, but neither Geralt nor any of his allies had slept or left the fortress. There was no victory, there was only a great loss, and there was no time for rest.

"Damn it! I shouldn't have left them take her." Vesemir said through gritted teeth, banging his fist against the table as he stared angrily at the wooden surface.

"You did all you could, Vesemir." Geralt said sadly, leaning against one of the walls, his wolven gaze stuck to the dark floor.

"We were heavily outnumbered." Eskel began, holding a bundle filled with ice against his bruised temple. "The Wild Hunt expected a battle, they were prepared and organized." His voice was full of disappointment and weariness as he let out a heavy sigh.

Geralt pushed himself away from the wall, walking to the far right wall of the room, then strode left again with unusual tension and heaviness in his he glanced at everyone in the room before he once again returned to staring at nothing in particular.

"Geralt, let's keep calm." Yennefer began, taking a deep breath herself. "Ciri is…safe for now, but we have to find a way to free her from Eredin." She said, forcing herself to believe in her own words, forcing herself to remember that Eredin's plans did not involve her dying, or at least not before opening the Gate of Worlds.

"And how do you suggest we do that, Yennefer?" Vesemir asked wearily, yet it was a rhetoric question. "I doubt the Wild Hunt took her anywhere in this dimension." He sighed. As much as he wanted to track them down, he had no illusion—the Hunt traveled to take, and took back to their homeworld.

"We need to think of a way." Yennefer said, failing to conceal the urgency in her tone as she stood up. "Only Ciri can travel between dimensions, but maybe we can ambush the Wild Hunt the next time they come. Maybe a small number of us can get through their portals." Her gaze traveled throughout the room, across each ally, each person who had fought for Ciri's safety before she looked at Geralt as he spoke.

"Yen, even if we could get past them unnoticed, we'd not be able to withstand the Frost." He said sadly, as if he wanted to believe otherwise, yet he had no strength to do so.

"I could cast a shield. A small number of us could get through." Yennefer replied.

"Don't get me wrong, Yennefer, but you're exhausted." The sorceress glared at the eldest Witcher. "We all are." Vesemir added as his eyes flickered across the room, lingering on Geralt before once again stopping at Yennefer. "The Wild Hunt's magic is too powerful for you to withstand alone, especially in their own portals."

"He's got a point." Geralt replied reluctantly.

"Fine, then what do you propose we do?" Yennefer's voice held a sharper edge—the sorceress was clearly offended, and Geralt couldn't blame her. They were all on edge. They were all tired, all worried for Ciri.

"Avallac'h—maybe he can help us." The White Wolf suggested. "He knows the Aen Elle better than any of us."

"Think he's truly on our side?" Vesemir raised an eyebrow.

"I don't know what to think." Geralt replied, turning to look at his mentor. "I mean, I sure as hell don't trust him, but right now I couldn't care less what his intentions are, so long he can help us get Ciri out of there."

"Geralt…" Zoltan began. "Don't get me wrong, I care about Ciri, but bursting in after those buggers in their own lands, after how they came…not sure it's a good idea." The Dwarf warrior scratched the back of his head in uncertainty as he averted his gaze.

"What do you suggest, Zoltan?" Triss asked softly.

"A plan, a strategy. We need to strike when they least expect, and end it there." Zoltan replied, clearly determined. His gaze traveled over all his friends—and individuals he did not know like the man standing across the room—a human dressed in blue next to a young woman wearing a rather revealing outfit. Zoltan knew neither of them, but he respected them.

Geralt silently agreed with his Dwarf friend. They needed to put an end to the Wild Hunt, they needed to kill Eredin, otherwise they'd never know peace. Ciri wouldn't know peace.

"How do you propose we do that, Dwarf?" Geralt heard Vernon Roche ask. "These are monsters, worse than specters." He said it with contempt—not so unusual for the former Commander of the Blue Stripes when he spoke of his enemies, or the enemies of his allies. "You can't even find them."

"We don't know how to reach them, but we're pretty sure where to find them" Geralt replied, looking up at Roche.

The former Temerian Commander sighed. "I'm afraid I'll have to step out of this. Going after them is a suicide mission, Geralt."

"You can't leave now!" Hjalmar pitched in, his voice disbelieving and rather accusing as he stepped forward.

Vernon Roche turned to glare at the Skelliger, but the White Wolf spoke before he had the chance to do so, "Roche might be right, Hjalmar." Geralt replied. "Their lands are dangerous and so are their portals, and we can't count on numbers when it comes to getting Ciri back." He then turned towards Roche and Ves, giving them a subtle, grateful nod as he said, "Thanks for coming, Roche."

Roche responded in a similar manner, "Good luck in finding your ward. And be wary of the kingslayer." He then turned to his subordinate—his once second in command, the one who had ignored a direct order. "Ves, let's go." He said as he began heading towards the exit of the keep.

"Well, I ain't afraid of a bunch of knights in skeleton armor and their king," Letho began. "So I think I'll stick around." The large, broad witcher crossed his muscular arms across his chest as he watched Geralt, most likely expecting an answer—one that the other witcher was quite certain Letho didn't care about.

The White Wolf only nodded as a response before he turned towards the others.

"How do you plan on finding the Wild Hunt's portals?" Lambert asked, his voice, as usual, laced with irritation.

"We don't know yet." Yennefer replied, somewhat thoughtful as she rested her chin against her palm.

"Eredin won't be bringing Ciri back to our world so soon." The eldest witcher stated. "I kind of doubt he'll even bring himself." He added with a shrug.

"Think he'll interrupt his monthly activities?" Geralt raised an eyebrow. "I mean, shortly before collecting Uma I came across a contract some Halflings had put up on an "apiarian phantom". Turned out it was a hound of the Wild Hunt who'd gotten separated recently." He explained, glancing at all the people in the large hall.

"So we know their secondary focus are still villages." Triss concluded thoughtfully. "Strange…seems not even his pursuit of Ciri stops Eredin from destroying lives." She said with a tint of disappointment in her voice.

"I strongly doubt anything can." Yennefer replied. "Eredin is cruel, he doesn't spare anyone…. And this is only the beginning. If he managed to harness Ciri's power, he might just be unstoppable." She said grimly, but she only looked at one person. Geralt. She looked into his golden eyes with her violet ones, and the White Wolf—her lover, and the one who knew her better than anyone ever had—saw her worry. He saw her dread at the thought of Ciri's power being harnessed for such purposes…and he understood it.

"Which is why we gotta stop them." Geralt concluded, letting his arms fall to his sides as he came to a halt, casting a quick glance across the room, meeting the eyes of all his allies, before he started again, "Best thing we can do for now is try to find them, anticipate where they might strike. We do this by finding a pattern. How do they choose the villages they target? What do they have in common? What is it that interests them most?" He explained.

"Good idea, Geralt." Vesemir said, and the White Wolf thought he heard a hint of pride in the eldest witcher's voice. "Any idea where to start?"

"I'll go to Velen. Seems they targeted it often, and maybe I can speak to some locals." Geralt replied thoughtfully. "It's also worth investigating east of Novigrad—the halflings said they saw the Wild Hunt Ride across the sky there." He saw Lambert raise an eyebrow, in interest or question, he didn't know for sure. It was a doubtful lead, that much Geralt knew, but it was all they had. Better than nothing anyway.

"But first we need to talk to Avallac'h." Yennefer interjected. "Don't get me wrong Geralt, I do trust your tracking skills but we need to move fast. Figuring out these patterns based on some long-since trampled villages might take weeks, months." There was something in the way she spoke that seemed to imply the idea would turn out useless in the end. That it was no real lead, only a cold one that would lead nowhere.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but Yennefer's right." Vesemir replied, glancing at the sorceress—though her expression remained passive.

"Fine." Geralt agreed as he let out a sigh. He didn't trust the Elf one bit. But Ciri had…it had to count for something, at least.

"I'll go check on him, see if he's awake." Yennefer said as she turned towards the general direction of the room they had placed Avallac'h in.

"I'm coming with you." The White Wolf was quickly at her side, and she gave him the briefest of smiles before the two of them walked away from their allies and towards one whom they did not know what to call…

In distant, unreachable lands, in a narrow room with cold, dark stone walls and a bed made of straws, Ciri's eyes slowly opened, her eyelids inexplicably heavy. She could remember the battle at Kaer Morhen, she could remember stepping through the portal with Eredin…she had threatened him. She had tried to escape…but Caranthir had put her to sleep with some spell.

"Damn it!" She pushed herself up from the hard ground, her limbs and body aching as she forced herself to stand. And to her surprise, she found herself behind bars, surrounded by walls, alone in a prison cell that felt suffocating—that felt…as if a powerful spell lied upon it. And as if that wasn't enough, she soon became aware of the shackles enclosed around her wrists…and the loose chain binding them together. It did not restrict her movement much, she realized, but if it came to a fight….

Ciri wasn't quite sure where she was, but she assumed Eredin had taken her to his kingdom. The same place she had been a prisoner of so long ago.

She took a deep breath, deciding to clear her mind—she would solve nothing by letting her many emotions take hold of her.

She focused her power, trying to get out, trying to teleport somewhere—anywhere—in her own world, at the foyer near Tir ná Lia, but it was useless. Her power did not work—it was as if it was suppressed by something, neutralized by a spell too strong for her to penetrate. Whether it was the prison or the chains, or both, she did not know.

She yelled out in frustration, resisting the temptation to kick at the walls surrounding her. She hated the situation. Hated Eredin. But more than anything, she feared for her friends…there was little comfort in the knowledge that only she and the Wild Hunt could travel between worlds, especially when she knew the lengths to which her family would go for her…and the lengths to which Eredin would go to have his way.

She took a deep breath and went to the bars of her cell, her eyes searching for guards…and it didn't take long to find them. Of course she was heavily guarded. And of course none of the many Wild Hunt warriors stationed outside her cell had bothered to check up to see how she was feeling even though they'd most likely saw her pacing and heard her cursing. Typical.

Just like last time, she was nothing more than a tool to the Aen Elle, only this time, Eredin had reason to do his worst. Ciri didn't exactly fear him—or at least, not when it came to herself. He needed her alive.

Through the bars—which, she noticed, were also enforced through powerful magic—she saw two of her guardsmen speak in hushed voices. She didn't understand them, mostly due to them speaking their tongue and being so far away. But considering the pace at which one of them took off, she assumed he was going on an urgent assignment.

But that assignment had nothing to do with her well-being.

She looked at her cell; there was nothing special about it, other than the magic that kept her from using her power, of course, but it was a huge difference from the luxury room she had been placed in last time. It seemed Eredin was very displeased with her—or it was just his way of keeping even those people he needed. After all, he had not been King the first time she had been to Tir ná Lia. It had not been his decision. With a heavy sigh, she sat on the straw bed resting her elbows against her bent knees and her back against the wall as she considered her options…

Further in the palace, the King of the Wild Hunt sat on his throne, a grin spreading his lips as he thought about his recent capture. Cirilla was finally in his grasp—in spite of the efforts of all his enemies, and that of the traitor Avallac'h.

He was one step closer to invading her world. One step closer to saving his realm from annihilation. One step closer to his long, unceasing reign—undefeated and forever known as a legend, feared yet acknowledged as the strongest King the Aen Elle had ever had. His smile widened as he reveled in his thoughts.

A scowl appeared on his face when he noticed one of his guardsmen approaching. He had clearly instructed him and the others not to leave their positions—lest it was to alert him of something—yet here he was. And Eredin knew he'd drive a sword through him if he told him anything less than what he deemed "acceptable" to hear.

"My King," A warrior dressed in skeletal armor said, bowing before Eredin Bréacc Glas. " _Wedd Hen Ichaer_ , she has awoken."

Eredin tilted his head back as he regarded the guardsman. He had expected her to be asleep for longer after Caranthir's spell. Even so, he had requested the guards to report to him if there was any change in her condition.

"I shall be there shortly." He said impassively. "You're dismissed." And his words were accompanied by a dismissive gesture he made with two fingers, yet he did not sit up.

The guardsman only bowed once more in respect before marching away back towards the dungeons, leaving the King to his pondering and thoughts…

Time seemed to stand still and fly at the same time for Ciri. It flew when she thought of those she had left behind, of their worry, of their sacrifice—flew, because she had no way of knowing what they were doing, if they were alright…and as her thoughts raced through her mind and worries flooded her, she began feeling as if she had been locked in that cell for days, with no access to the outside world.

But then, time also stood still, especially when she looked around and ahead. The minutes felt like hours, yet there was little movement outside her cell, so little that she wondered if more than an hour could've passed. It was all unchanged, even the posture of the soldiers remained the same, as did the fact that they barely uttered a word to each other.

And so, she had no way of knowing what time it was, or how much it had been since she had left her family and friends behind. She was alone, with her own thoughts, with her own ponderings on her current situation and what she could possibly do to leave that place…

She had seen the guard who had left earlier return, his posture stiff even as he whispered something she had not been able to hear to one of the other guardsmen. She had paced in her cell before she had once again sat on the straws. But nothing she did could calm her, and nothing she could think of would allow her to get out of her cell…yet.

With a heavy, annoyed sigh, she pushed herself off the ground and to her feet. She looked around her prison for the hundredth time—as if it had already become a habit to look for a way to escape, but she stopped short when she caught a glimpse of a familiar face through the corner of her eyes. He was the last person she wanted to see—actually, not even that. He was the one person she did not want to see.

"Ah, _Zireael_ ," He spoke, his tone triumphant and his posture proud as he came to stand in front of the cell. "It's good to see you're awake and well, _luned_." He had a smirk plastered on his lips, an arrogant, smug smile that only contributed to her already foul mood. She glowered at him, her gaze full of hatred—and it was the only time she had found herself wishing so much that looks alone could kill, or at least knock someone unconscious.

He raised a hand and made a motion with his index and middle finger, dismissing the guardsmen surrounding them. And they left without a word, without a glance back at their king and the one he had pursued for so long.

Ciri couldn't help but notice the contrast between their obedience and Imlerith's hesitance when it came to sparing Vesemir.

"What the hell are you still doing here, Eredin?" Ciri glared at him, her tone sharp and accusing—and she did not care if the departing guards heard the way she addressed him, the way she spoke to him.

"You will address me with respect, girl." He glowered at her, as the expression on his face turned even colder. But she didn't fear him.

"I'll address you as you deserve," She replied sharply. " _King_ of the Wild Hunt." She added with mockery and spite in her tone, causing his lips to twitch in anger as his fists clenched.

"You do realize I decide your fate, as well as that of the witcher and the sorceress, don't you?" He asked evilly, staring her in the eye with that arrogant look on his face, so confident in his taunts.

"I realize your world is on the brink of destruction too, which means, you need me." She told him, and the change in him was obvious to Ciri—from arrogance, to irritation…and something else she couldn't place. "You killing my friends isn't gonna get you much. Of course, I could hate you more than I already do but that just won't work to your advantage, will it?" She too stared him in the eye, this time with a challenge in those green, fiery eyes of hers. She dared him to tell her otherwise.

He scowled, the intensity of his glare increasing so much that Ciri did feel a shiver down her spine—but she was not going to surrender to him.

He let out a short, barely noticeable sigh. "I was hoping we could reach an…agreement so I won't have to hurt those you care for…after all, I did leave one of those fools alive as part of a bargain." He watched her carefully—but he had not expected her irritated expression to suddenly turn into one of anger.

"You got some nerve, Eredin." She told him coldly, sharply, with contempt in her voice as she came to stand right before the bars of her cell. "You threaten my friend's life, lock me in a dungeon, and then you tell me you have a proposal for me?" She asked, half revolted and half in disbelief, awaiting an answer that she did not care to hear.

"I did have to ensure you would not escape again, Cirilla. After all, you have been quite a naughty girl last time." He said. "You could use some iron discipline."

 _"And you could use a harsh lesson of the same cruelty as you."_ She thought to herself, but instead said, "Naughty? For what?" She saw him raise an eyebrow, but she continued, "Leaving to save my friend? Not allowing you to use me as a piece of meat?" Her tone was accusing as she glowered at him, filled with such contempt, yet Eredin thought he also heard disillusion-and perhaps sadness as she spoke the last part.

"I told you the truth, unlike Avallac'h who has now tricked you into thinking he is on your side." Eredin replied. "Had you not left, perhaps things would have been different." There was something suggestive in his voice…

"Yeah, I would've been forced to sleep with you after the former king's "unfortunate" death." Ciri replied, and she saw the brief alarm in his gaze before the elf glared evilly at her once more. "So yeah, I did the right thing. I'd rather sleep on this stone floor than ever in bed with you." She told him disdainfully. "And you can take any "proposals" you may have and shove them up your ass." She defied him, disrespected him and insulted him. His jaw clenched, his expression turned hateful and even colder than usual. Eredin would not stand for such behavior.

"Such attitude should be disciplined with an iron fist…and eradicated through methods used for centuries, on humans and horses." He said, knowing she'd understand. Knowing she'd remember.

"I'm not your horse and I'm not your slave, Eredin." Ciri replied sharply. "Just because you captured me doesn't mean you control me. You never will." Ciri said, and everything about her—her posture, her tone, her words, her gaze—reflected nothing less than determination as she looked the King of the Wild Hunt in the eyes.

"We'll see about that." Eredin said smugly, tilting his head back in arrogance before he turned around and walked away.

"In your dreams." Ciri scoffed to herself as she backed away from the cage's bars and sighed, leaning against one of the cold stone walls.

She heard several voices outside, but she couldn't make out what they said. She assumed it was Eredin ordering the guardsmen, since the elves appeared in the dungeon almost as soon as the talking ceased.

And Ciri had no idea how she'd escape this time.

* * *

 _The first thing I'll say is: **thank you to all** who read this and the previous chapter, thank you for all the follows, all the kudos, all the favorites, and all the comments. Thank you all so much for your feedback, it has meant a lot to me and it really motivated me to try to get this story updated sooner than I'd initially planned :)  
_

 _Pretty please let me know your opinions on this chapter, be they good or bad, send them my way because feedback is a writer's best friend (well, feedback and the keyboard… :D). Plus, I wrote this chapter, unlike the previous one, without a scene guideline from the game, so I'm curious to hear how I did with maintaining character personalities (which, I admit, I'm not fully confident I did right). Nonetheless, I loved writing this chapter :)_

 _I'm not entirely sure when the next chapter will be done but it should be soon enough. However, I'm very certain that next weekend (or possibly earlier), I'll post one of the other Witcher 3 fanfics I'm working on, but don't worry, I'm not abandoning this one—I'll be writing and updating both :)_

 _I also thank Vic-of-Thor, who is a wonderful beta reader and has given me much helpful advice for this fanfic and this chapter, as well._

 _And If any of you is interested in taking a better look at the cover photo I made for the fanfic, here it is: www . deviantart challengeofthedark/art/Witcher-3-A-Different-Path-Taken-Cover-part-1-766659704_ _(just remove spaces)_

 _And since I can't reply to guest reviews on fanfiction net but I still feel bad for not replying to them, I decided to answer all the ones I get at the end of the chapter itself, so here is my answer to the guest who was kind to let me know her/his opinion._

Guest: _Great debute! Looking forward to the next chapter_

ChallengeOfTheDark: _Thank you! :) I am glad you think so and I hope this fanfic will continue to be to your liking (and if not please let me know). I hope to hear from you again :D_

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And also, the disclaimer of Rivia: **_I do NOT own anything, it all belongs to their rightful owners. I have only written this fanfic out of love and appreciation for the wonderful, complex universe of the Witcher. I make no profit nor do I intend to, I am simply happy to write my fantasies within this universe and happy that others find this story enjoyable. Many thanks also to CD Projekt RED for the masterpieces Witcher games, as well as to Andrzej Sapkowski for the masterpieces his books are._  
**


	3. Chapter 3 - Time of Despair

**The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt fanfiction**

 **A Different Path Taken**

 _Chapter 3 - Time of Despair_

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The door to the room they had left Avallac'h in had not been locked, but neither the sorceress not the White Wolf had bothered knocking. Now was not the time for politeness. Ciri seemed to trust the elf for some reason, and Geralt did not doubt her words, did not doubt that the sage had indeed looked after her. But the witcher did doubt his intentions and reasons. Honesty and good will was not a trait common in elves from what he had experienced, and to him Avallac'h was no different.

Almost as soon as Yennefer pushed the door open, she stopped in her tracks—as did the White Wolf. They were staring at a seemingly empty room, their gazes frantically searching for the one they knew had been here.

"He can't have left without us knowing about it." Yennefer stated…it just wasn't possible, and yet…he was nowhere in sight.

"That's because I haven't." A rather deep voice came from the general direction of the balcony, and a few moments later, the figure of the Elven Sage appeared as he regarded the witcher and the sorceress with an unreadable gaze in his eyes and an impassive look on his face.

Yennefer noticed her lover tense up next to her, his eyes fixed on the elf, warning him not to try anything, clearly distrusting, clearly alert…

"What's your business with Ciri?" To the point as always, Yennefer thought to herself when she heard her lover voice his exact thoughts. Yet she couldn't deny she had a similar question on her mind…

"Only to keep Zireael out of Eredin's power addled hands," Avallac'h replied calmly. "Which I have managed to prevent. Until you found her and brought her to this place, anyway." The elf said, clearly irritated and yet…there wasn't one hint of concern in his eyes, voice or expression. Yennefer could already tell he had no concern for Ciri's wellbeing whatsoever…

"Save the lecture." Geralt told him coldly, yet his yellow eyes never left the elf's green ones. "Why are you helping her?" He inquired, taking a step forward.

"Because Cirilla is the only one who can stop Tedd Deireadh, the Time of the End, from consuming all worlds." Avallac'h explained solemnly. He saw disbelief flicker in the witcher's eyes and saw expectance in the sorceresses'. He expected a question related to the prophecy, even expected the witcher to deny the truth of the prophecy…but it was another question he asked.

"You betrayed your own. Why?" Geralt's brows furrowed as he gestured with his hand, curious to hear the elf's reasons, yet unwilling to believe they were entirely true…

"Eredin has strayed from our purpose, he has committed unforgiveable crimes he must answer for." He was stern in his words, so much that it made Yennefer wonder just what the King of the Wild Hunt had done so that someone like Avallac'h would speak of him in such a way. "I would not stand by and let him use Zireael, destroying the last of her bloodline in the process." He explained it as if it was his responsibility to prevent it, though emotion remained absent from his voice.

"How did you know Eredin has Ciri?" Yennefer suddenly asked, cutting of Geralt's chance at saying anything else—as she knew he would.

"I can no longer sense Zireael's presence." The Sage replied simply, shifting his attention—or at least part of it—on the sorceress. "I assume Eredin was involved, I know of no others besides the Aen Elle with enough knowledge to conceal—or rather neutralize—Elder Blood to the point it becomes so difficult to detect." He regarded them both as he spoke, remembering Ciri's words about them, remembering how much they seemed to mean to her…

"Difficult, but not impossible." Geralt stated, but the elven sage could tell it was both a question and a demand.

"Indeed." Avallac'h nodded his confirmation. "He is likely to have taken her back to Tir ná Lia, but where…now that is a question." He spoke his thoughts aloud as he strode across the room, turning to gaze towards the balcony, at the distant horizon…

"A better question would be how we get her out of there." Yennefer replied sharply. She was far from the type to rush forward, yet, she knew finding a way into Tir ná Lia would be an easier mission than leaving the city, especially with Ciri. "You know the lands, are there any passages that can take us in and out?" She inquired.

"There may very well be, but it is not simple to travel through them, especially with the time of the second Conjunction soon to be upon us." When Avallac'h' turned to face them once more, the first thing he noticed was the White Wolf's irritation.

It was true, his explanations were vague, even more so to someone like Geralt, but not to a sorceress. And though Yennefer did not like what she heard, she understood it. She opened her mouth, preparing to speak when Avallac'h began, "I must restore my power. If we are to stand a chance at getting Zireael back, we must be swift and cunning." He explained, regarding the two with an emotionless yet confident gaze in his eyes. "Eredin's arrogance and underestimation of his enemies is his weakness, we must take advantage of this." He stated again. "Most likely, he doesn't expect you to find a way to his realm, and in the event that you do, he will expect an attack, or at least a diversion. We must do the opposite of this." He told them, his voice calm and confident, yet he spoke with such ease that Geralt wondered what exactly they were waiting for.

And he had no hesitation in voicing his thoughts. "What are we still doing here then?"

"I can only open the portals between worlds at precise moments, unlike the Wild Hunt mages and Cirilla. These moments have yet to be upon us." He explained.

"Do you know when those opportune moments will be?" Yennefer inquired.

"No, not yet. This is what I was attempting to find when the two of you burst in without as much as knocking." Avallac'h said, his tone having a slight edge to it as his gaze, now a shadow of a glare, traveled from the sorceress to the witcher and back.

"Excuse us, but Ciri's wellbeing is much higher on our list of priorities than manners." Yennefer replied, sarcasm dripping in her melodious, smooth voice as she narrowed her violet eyes at the sage.

"Fair enough." Avallac'h nodded and walked away, his confidence never faltering—he didn't even seem to acknowledge them as hosts, more like…something else that Yennefer could not quite put her finger on, but he did not act like an ally, that much she could tell. He continued, though he did not turn to look at them. "And on the topic of Cirilla's safety," This time he turned, locking his hands behind him as he stood a short distance away from the two people who seemed to mean the most to Cirilla—at least considering the way she had spoken of them. "How did the Wild Hunt manage to capture her?"

"Eredin blackmailed her." Geralt replied before Yennefer had the chance to, and it was the first time the elven sage heard such contempt in his voice—and one of the few times the sorceress had. "She went with them to save us." He continued, this time with a noticeable hint of disappointment and sadness in his tone. "We were frozen by their magic, we couldn't do anything. Ciri surrendered to the Wild Hunt to save our lives." He did not go into detail, partly because Avallac'h did not need to know all the details, and partly because he did not want to remember. It had been his idea to gather at Kaer Morhen to face the Hunt. It had been his idea, and Ciri had paid the price to save their lives. She had chosen them instead of her freedom—the freedom she had spent her entire life fighting for. He felt Yennefer's hand enclose on his wrist, and his gaze locked with the sorceresses' for a moment, finding worry, hope, and pure strength in the gaze of her violet gaze. He gave a barely noticeable smile.

Avallac'h nodded. "I see." There was nothing in his voice. Not the slightest emotion or tint of empathy. His voice was as colorless as if he was talking about the weather. Yennefer glared as she turned her attention to the elf. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to be left alone. I must make preparations for when the time to leave for Tir ná Lia comes." He walked back towards the open balcony, paying no heed to them, as if they had suddenly disappeared into thin air.

And then both Geralt and Yennefer knew; they would not trust him. Sure, he had kept Ciri safe, and he had helped her flee the Hunt. But he had most likely not done it out of the goodness of his heart.

"No way you're going there alone. We're coming and it's not up for debate." Yennefer said decisively as she took a few steps forward.

"I never said I would leave alone." Avallac'h replied calmly. "I shall let you know when everything's ready." He stated, and the way he spoke told Geralt and Yennefer that he would speak no more. He was done when he wanted to, it seemed, as if he was their leader, as if he was the one to make the decisions and others obeyed. Geralt frowned and took a step forward, but Yennefer grasped his arm once more and held him back. She shook her head slightly before she glanced in the direction of the doorway.

Geralt hesitated as he looked back at Avallac'h, who was still standing there in the open balcony, his hands locked behind his back, his posture seemingly relaxed. It was as if they weren't even there anymore, as if they hadn't talked to him, as if Ciri was safe.

The witcher frowned, but gave in to Yennefer with a soft sigh as she pulled him towards the door leading out of the room.

As much as Geralt wanted to turn around and ask Avallac'h more of his…adventures with Ciri during the time they had spent running from the Hunt, as well as about his reasons for helping her, he knew Yennefer was right. He'd get nothing more out of the sage, and they needed him to get to Ciri. Needed him to save her.

He closed the door behind them as Yennefer descended the stairs ahead of him, yet it didn't take long for him to be right behind her once more.

"What do you think?" She asked in a colorless voice, concealing her emotions, her opinions…keeping them from being heard in her tone. There was no suggestion as to what she was thinking, yet, Geralt already knew their opinion was similar at the very least.

"Something shady about him and the whole thing. I don't trust him." Geralt answered softly as they continued walking.

"Neither do I." Yennefer admitted. "But he's our best chance at finding and saving Ciri."

"Think he's really on her side?" Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"No, but he's not on Eredin's either." Yennefer shrugged as she considered her words. She suspected Avallac'h had his own reasons—though she wondered how come Ciri had seemed to trust him so much—but for the time being, he seemed less dangerous than the Hunt. "That's an advantage, the only one we have at the moment." She continued.

"Was he telling the truth about the portals?" The witcher had been suspicious about it since he had first heard it, but his knowledge of portals was limited compared to that of mages. And quite frankly, he did not want to learn more about them, especially if it included using them.

Yennefer groaned softly and turned to face him in an elegant yet abrupt move, causing Geralt to stop in his tracks—in spite of the fact that he had been tempted to "accidentally" bump into her. "I'm not an expert on inter-dimensional travels, Geralt, but I suppose it is. The Wild Hunt navigators are specially trained for this, they are not limited by the constraints of space and time but rather by how many others they can bring with them. If Eredin was to harness Ciri's power, his entire armies would be able to pass through whenever."

The White Wolf nodded. "We need to get her back." Geralt muttered.

"And we will." Yennefer said, with such determination that for a few moments, Geralt no longer worried about the details. No longer worried about the how. He knew they would, and that's what mattered.

He nodded to the sorceress. "I'll go tell the others about the plan."

"All in due time. They can find out later too." Yennefer said with a small smirk.

Geralt sighed. "I need to talk to Vesemir and the others, Yen. Ciri...well, we don't know much for now, but we need to be ready at any moment." He said softly, and the sorceress could see his brows furrow in concern and thought.

"I suppose you're right." Yennefer sighed. "Go talk to them, then come back to me." She said softly, this time with the kind of affection Geralt had rarely heard in her voice, rarely seen in those violet eyes of hers…and he was determined to return to her. For the time being, they could do nothing more than wait…wait, and hope that Ciri would hold on until Avallac'h would find a way to get them to Tir ná Lia.

And as the witcher turned away from Yennefer, heading towards the hall where he knew all his friends were waiting, he hoped with everything he was that the time to leave for Ciri would come soon…

Far beyond their reach, in the land of Elves, the rays of the eastern sun shone over Tir ná Lia, yet, it was a cold light to the Aen Elle, without the warmth they had all grown accustomed to during their lives, without the comfort that all living beings—elves, plants and animals—needed in order to survive and prosper.

It was quite early in the morning, and on this day there were no clouds to cover the sun that hung in the east—perhaps it was meant as a reminder of the way their world had been, perhaps it was the hope of a world on the brink of extinction. But the Aen Elle found no better option other than to go about their business, hoping their new king—ruthless as he was—would fulfill what he had vowed and save them from this threat.

Yet, not all saw the sun. And in spite of the important role she had to play in the preservation of the Aen Elle, the Child of the Elder blood had seen nothing but the same dark, stone walls of the cold dungeon she had been placed in. She had not seen much of the kingdom, not this time. Ever since she had arrived, things had stayed more or less the same, so much that she had begun wondering whether Eredin had brought her there to tire her out through boredom. Eventually, she had fallen asleep, her days of running, her exhaustion from battle taking its hold on her and pulling her into a deep sleep…for a while anyway.

Ciri's eyes slowly opened at the many noises she heard around her. Metal boots clanking against the floor, jail doors screeching, distant voices speaking, seemingly in the dungeon, but too far and distorted for her to make out whatever it was they were saying. She rubbed her eyes, her weariness reminding her of the time spent on the run, the incidents at Kaer Morhen…and the day before, the day on which she had found herself trapped in her enemy's dungeon. She had not drank, she had not eaten, in spite of having been offered a plate of whatever dry, possibly expired food the guards had pushed through the bars. She had not exactly rested either, mostly due to her own stubbornness than anything else, since no one had shown much interest in her since Eredin lad left. And each time her tired eyelids closed and she felt herself drifting off, she forced herself to take another look throughout her cell, unwilling to fall asleep yet unable to keep herself awake.

She tilted her head back, resting it against the cold wall she had her back to as she draped her arm over her knee, the loose chains holding her cuffs together dangling from the movement. Everything was cold, everything was hard, rough, and there was nothing to see, no way to escape. The guardsmen never left, they only changed shifts, and in the end Ciri had counted about nine or ten guards, four stationed in front of the door of her cell while the rest patrolled the dungeon at a steady, marching pace.

And though she had never seen the dungeon of Tir ná Lia last time, Ciri had the feeling a lot had changed since her last stay at the elven city. Somehow everything seemed colder, everyone seemed tensioned. She had tried talking to the guards, tried distracting them, tried tricking them into giving her a blanket, giving her fresh water, but it was as if they had not heard her—or rather, as if they heard but ignored. They glanced at her, then resumed their still stances, occasionally speaking with each other about their shifts and things that had not been of interest to Ciri. For a few moments she had actually wondered if Eredin or his generals had specifically instructed them on the subjects they could discuss. It wouldn't have surprised her even if he had—there was nothing more Eredin could do that would surprise her.

She sighed, watching the two guards who had remained in front of her cell, their gazes fixated on her, following her every move.

 _"As if I could do anything more than rot in this cell."_ Ciri thought to herself as she rolled her eyes, but her thoughts were interrupted when she once again heard people talking. Her brows furrowed as she strained her ears attempting to make out what those distant voices were saying.

"You will resume your duties…" She heard a rough, commanding voice say. But it was not Eredin, that much she could tell for sure. "…at the door of the room…" Ciri couldn't make up part of his sentence, and the next thing she heard made little to no sense, "…locked inside." Whoever the man—or elf—speaking was, Ciri didn't recognize him, but he was obviously in a high position and ordering the guards around. She couldn't help wondering, was he referring to her cell as "room"? She scoffed at the thought—and the likeliness of it as she stood up, walking closer to the bars as she leaned against the wall. She ignored the glares the guards were shooting her way, and instead, she focused on the voices coming from what she assumed was a different part of the dungeon.

"The girl comes with us," Another voice said, only this one was unnaturally deep—and distorted by whatever magic the Wild Hunt used. Ciri's eyes widened when she realized they were talking about her. And her thoughts instantly reminded her of Eredin's words, of the way he had spoken of discipline, of the things he had told her, of the way he'd threatened her… maybe that was what the people talking were there for. But she wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of seeing her fear them. She wasn't going to let them "tame" her, as Eredin put it. "Discipline" her, as he said it was needed.

The hard clanking of boots on the stone floor told her they were coming, and she braced herself, tensing up, preparing to do her worst to whoever it was, preparing to take any chance she could get to escape…

The first to come into view was a bald elf with three wide stripes of red paint crossing from his forehead to his chin, and he—much like his leader—had a disdainful gaze in his amber eyes and a scowl on his face. Then Ciri noticed his armor, the rising, long, thin blades coming from the top of his shoulders, the color and the model that only a General of the Wild Hunt would wear, and she had no doubt about who he was. Imlerith.

She glared at him, but then she noticed Caranthir—he had his full armor and helmet on, his staff glistening with what looked like enchanted shards of ice, holding great, yet deadly power.

"Zireael…" Caranthir started, regarding the girl. "I am tempted to give you the benefit of doubt…perhaps you will come of your own will."

"Eredin sent you to do his dirty work?" Ciri scoffed at him as she glared at both Wild Hunt Generals. "Typical." She rolled her eyes, though she never looked away from them—not that anticipating their moves could help her in any way, not when her power was neutralized by the dimeritium shackles which were also infused with some kind of powerful magic, not when she had to fight two of the strongest Wild Hunt members and their hosts of warriors. But that did not mean giving in to them.

"Had you been my charge, girl, you would not even consider speaking such words." Imlerith said darkly, his tone laced with hatred and annoyance.

"You will learn respect, Zireael, you will…" Caranthir said in a confident tone that sounded rather reassuring-most likely for Imlerith's sake.

And for good reason too, as the powerful warrior cast a disdainful glance at the girl who dared defy them and subtly motioned towards her-a nonverbal agreement between the two Generals, Ciri assumed. And her assumption proved to be correct when Caranthir stepped forward and pointed his staff at her. But Ciri was determined not to go down so easily; she braced herself, steeled herself… Then she saw his spell, the way the air seemed to warp before she felt coldness in her bones and once again felt as if all life was being drained from her...felt faint…

She dropped to her knees with a gasp, yet she refused to fall asleep. She refused to close her eyes.

A stray question crossed her mind—why did they need her if Caranthir had such power—but then she remembered. She was in a cell that had most likely been designed to neutralize her power, and on top of that, she was bound in magic shackles. Caranthir could use his spells…

To her surprise, she heard a click, like that of a door unlocking, followed by an annoying, overly loud screeching noise...or perhaps it was loud to her ears only…the ground and her surroundings moved around her, seemingly slowly spinning…

She forced herself to look up, only to see the gate to her cell open and Imlerith step in, his posture downright arrogant, his expression full of malevolence as he bent down and grasped her arms. Ciri fought back a yelp of pain at the strength and brutality with which his fingers dug into her flesh as he yanked her up, and her cuffs only made it more painful. She had thought Eredin was brutal, but Imlerith was much worse. How she wished she'd had her sword, how she wished she'd plunge it through the cruel General's chest.

"Let go of me!" She said through gritted teeth as she tried to pry his hand away from her, but to no avail. He glared at her, an obvious warning in the gaze of his amber eyes as he yanked her harder and began dragging her after him, out of the cell, and into the hallway. She saw the guards watching her, yet, in spite of her obvious discomfort, in spite of her struggles, they all remained impassive—the ones that remained stationed at regular intervals throughout the dungeon and the ones who followed after her and Imlerith.

And to make matters worse, Ciri found she could not keep up with them. Her legs did not obey her wishes, her body felt partially paralyzed, slow...too slow to keep up with Imlerith, who had the stride of a giant. She forced herself to lift her legs as the ascended a set of stairs, the stairs she had the feeling would lead out of that dungeon. Gathering what strength she had left, Ciri prepared herself to try to pull herself out of Imlerith's grasp, but to her dismay, Caranthir's spell seemed to intensify, ridding her of most of her strength, rendering her limp, yet mostly conscious.

"Damn it!" She thought to herself as she watched her surroundings change. It was the most she could do at the moment, and she could only hope it would help her, for she had no intention to remain in this cursed place. "The place that is now ruled by a tyrant." She thought to herself as she recalled the last time she had been to Tir ná Lia. It had been so different, perhaps because of Auberon—the king of the Aen Elle at the time—and he had been somewhat hospitable to her, at least compared to Eredin. Back then they had all treated her like an object, a piece of meat, yet, somehow now it felt much worse, especially when she did not know what Eredin was planning. All she knew was that he was capable of anything evil, and that was enough to worry her.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted when her feet and calves his something and her chains started rattling. Stairs, she saw. They led into an ornate hallway, with black and red carpets, stone walls and various paintings, statues, or ornaments. Ones that Ciri did not care much for, especially in her current state.

Imlerith dragged her through several corridors, most of them surprisingly empty with only a few servants here and there, though there was little detail Ciri could observe as her tiredness increased. Her vision blurred, then cleared slightly, her vision faded, then returned. At some point she could tell they were ascending stairs again, stairs that seemed never ending.

And suddenly, they came to a halt. She heard the faint noise of a door opening before she was once again dragged...into a large, seemingly luxurious room-though Ciri couldn't see very clearly. For a few seconds, she considered it might've been Eredin's bedchamber. Perhaps they had taken her to do what she had been meant to do with Auberon-and what Eredin had hinted he wanted.

She grunted as she once again felt a suppressing, stifling sensation on her, similar to the one she had felt in the dungeon. But she had no strength left.

The Wild Hunt General came to a stop before what appeared to be a double bed, hoisting her up by her arms and tossing her on the bed disdainfully yet carefully-or at least, carefully enough so she wouldn't end up rolling out of bed on the other side.

Caranthir glanced at him as he stood at his side, but then he turned his attention to the Child of the Elder Blood. She was weakened, and the shackles, as well as his spells, would neutralize her power to teleport away. She would never escape them.

"Where did you take me?" Ciri asked weakly as she watched the two through half-closed eyes.

"In your new chamber, you should be grateful." Caranthir replied impassively in his deepened voice. "Prisoners do not usually get such luxury."

"W-why am I here?" Ciri had several other things to say to him-and even more things to say to Imlerith and Eredin-yet she felt too faint to utter most of them. She could feel herself slowly drifting off...

"You are here at the King's order." The powerful navigator replied.

Ciri forced her eyes open as she suddenly felt a surge of fear course through her. Why would he… Was he intending on...attempting anything? Doing what he had hinted at, and what she had been meant to do the first time she had been to Tir ná Lia?

"No…" She gasped wearily, attempting to get up, but it was as if her body refused to obey her wish. Her eyelids slowly covered her gaze…

She heard what sounded like a distorted muttering of several voices around her, speaking words she couldn't make out as she fell into a dreamless, deep sleep, unable to fight the spell anymore.

Caranthir regarded her for a few moments before he gracefully turned and walked away, towards the exit of the room as the guards stepped out of his way.

"You are not to let her out and you are not to leave your posts." Imlerith told the guards harshly as he gestured towards the human sleeping behind him.

"Understood." The guards all bowed their heads as he exited, locking the door behind him without a moment of hesitation. Several guards remained stationed there, while Imlerith headed away, towards the training grounds. He would look forward to the next raid or battle, whichever came first.

It was only several hours later when Ciri finally awoke, her lids heavy as she slowly opened her eyes. Her honed instincts took hold as she slowly and subtly assessed her surroundings. The first thing she noticed was that she was no longer in a dungeon, she was…her fingers pressed against fabric, her back laid against something soft…on a mattress. She turned her head, her eyes falling on red curtains, tall, wooden bookcases and wardrobes, several armchairs…but no one around. She felt strangely cold as she pushed herself up, rubbing her eyes wearily, recalling the events that had happened…before she had drifted off. She realized she had no idea how long had passed since then, all she knew was that Caranthir and Imlerith had brought her here. At Eredin's orders, it finally dawned on her.

That thought alone was enough to make her jump to her feet, denying herself the comfort of the warm bed; but in spite of the strength she had mustered, her body was still fatigued. Her legs felt wobbly as she stood, forcing her to take a few moments to steady herself as the dizziness slowly faded. She could only assume she felt like that because of the spell the Wild Hunt Navigator had put on her—it was almost similar to something she had felt when Avallac'h had cast a similar but more powerful spell upon her.

"You'll regret it, Caranthir." She muttered under her breath as she strode towards the double door, which she was quite certain had not been left unlocked for her to just walk out. And the number of guards she saw stationed on the other side of the door as she peeked through the keyhole confirmed her assumptions. There was no point in even trying the door—other than alerting the guards of her having awoken. She decided to investigate the room in silence, careful not to give the soldiers a reason to believe she was in good condition—or worse, that she was planning her escape.

She had no illusion that she would find a way to do so in a room Eredin had ordered her brought to, but she still hoped to find something, anything, that would provide some help to get out, to return to her friends…

Geralt. Yennefer. Vesemir. All those she had put their lives on the line to protect her. All those she had left behind to protect from the Hunt's cruelty. She needed to find a way to return to them, and with every passing second, the desire to return to her world grew more intense. Whether it was the knowledge—or rather lack of knowledge—regarding Eredin's intentions, or the fact that she missed her family, she didn't know. And at that moment, she didn't care to find out.

She knew her power was still suppressed by a powerful spell—most likely the one placed on her shackles, since she assumed any of the remaining mages had the knowledge or power to place such a barrier over Tir na Lia—and she also knew that attempting to use her abilities would instantly alert Caranthir and Eredin of her whereabouts and intentions. Noticing the open balcony, Ciri walked up to it, the curtains shifting at the cold wind breeze as she passed by them.

"Naturally," She thought aloud as she came to stand behind the railing. "He'd make sure I'm taken to the highest room in the entire palace." She muttered under her breath as she looked down, at the world far below her, too far to make a rope out of sheets. There was no way to escape without breaking her neck if she tried to get out through the balcony.

She sighed, looking towards the horizon, noticing the pale red rays of a fading sun, reminding her so much of a dying world, nearing the end of its existence. Avallac'h had told her this was the fate that awaited all worlds, including hers, yet, the world of the Aen Elle would be the next to be taken by the White Frost.

"Eredin is driven by fear." Avallac'h had told her. But it was no excuse for his actions. Especially not when it was not only his world at stake. But Ciri assumed he did not see past the possibility of his own demise, nor did he consider anything other than using her for any uses she could find. To open the Gate. To stop the Frost.

And possibly, to bear him a child with Elder Blood in his veins.

Ciri glanced at the large, clearly comfortable bed. _"Never. Not with him."_ She thought, frowning at the bed as she shook her head in utter denial. The very idea of lying next to him, of him touching her awakening the kind of disgust she had never thought she'd feel. Or at least, not when it came to him.

She sighed and looked around the room, taking several steps away from the bed as her she took in the details of her new room. An actual room, at that too. It was nicely decorated—she had to admit—and very clean. The furniture was made of what appeared to be oak, a brown yet beautiful shade, the walls, though made of stone, seemed a lot more warmer, seemed…less soaked in hopelessness, in darkness. There was a painting depicting what Ciri assumed was Tir ná Lia during its days of glory, before the Frost, before the threat of annihilation loomed over them. Then there were bookcases, mostly empty, with one or two books on each shelf.

" _As if I could plan my escape with just any book."_ Ciri thought to herself as she rolled her eyes. Unless every book the Aen Elle had was on magic—which she seriously doubted—she found no reason as to why she barely even had anything to read in that whole room. Unless, of course, Eredin intended to try to "tame" and "discipline" her. Ciri knew he was capable of such things, in fact, she very much expected it of him. And she was determined to prove he would do anything but succeed.

She turned to the wardrobe that stood against the wall to the side of her bed, pulling its doors, only to find…just a seemingly close-fitting grey tunic and a pair of brown pants, not too dark but not light either, yet they matched the boots and gloves she was wearing. It seemed the room was the only thing that had changed-she had very few books to read and even fewer clothes to wear. She had half expected to find something more...provoking in her wardrobe, something matching her the dress she had worn when she had gone to meet Auberon. But there was no such dress.

She sighed softly, her thoughts wandering back to the home she had left behind while at the same time, the memories of the unpleasantness she had endured the last time at Tir ná Lia-of how all elves had treated her-haunted her. And she wished she could escape, wished she could do it again, for her friends, for her family…

But she knew such thing was not possible.

Eredin had learnt from his mistakes, from his underestimation and the tactics she had used to escape last time. Ciri doubted she'd be able to use the Easnadh again to escape. She was not opposed to trying, yet, she assumed Eredin would expect it. After all, he had expected many things, from their plan at Kaer Morhen, to her eventual surrender. And he had used the weakness he had so easily been able to identify-strangely enough, Ciri thought, when he cared for no one but himself and yet knew how much of an impact using her loved ones' lives to blackmail her would work. She found it disgusting, sure, and she despised him for it. Yet it was also proof that now it would not be like last time…which was what worried her the most.

With a heavy sigh, she dropped on the bed and rubbed her eyes thoughtfully. Come what may, she thought. She'd find a way. She'd rid herself of the magical binding around her wrists and then she'd go back to her friends, in her world, in her time.

Further in the palace, in the throne room, the Aen Elle King was comfortably seated upon his chair, his chin resting on the back of his hand as he stared out the glass of a window. He still held the last report he had received in his hand, the report that reminded him of what the situation in his kingdom was like. The report from one of those responsible for other regions of his realm…who, apparently, was so frightened that he wanted to be relieved of his duties over the provinces he governed.

He sighed as he looked over the report once more.

" _Despite the significant measures already undertaken, the situation in the outer regions of Tilath na Viell, Tilath na Lia and Tilath na Crob've provinces has not improved. The Sages sent to handle the matter in the field have merely succeeded in delaying the advance of the White Frost, which slowly yet surely engulfs more and more territory. We must accept that Tilath na Buhne is now completely lost – the Sages did not reach it in time._

 _I recommend the swift evacuation of the endangered provinces and a strengthening and radicalization of measures intended to seize Aen Seidhe territory. Otherwise I must ask to be freed of responsibility for the provinces under my jurisdiction._

 _Inglor Helyanwe"_

Eredin frowned and crumpled the paper in his hand.

"A strengthening and radicalization of the measures to seize Aen Seidhe territory" Eredin scoffed to himself. He dared tell such things, dared "advise" him to take measures when he was not the one in cause. The King of the Wild Hunt knew he'd have to handle Inglor and remind him of his place—and duties.

Yet, he was not on Eredin's list of priorities, because as much as he despised the situation, the entire realm was in danger, and there was only one way to save them. Only one territory far enough for the Frost not to reach—or reach at a later time. And only one who could take them there, yet the little swallow was feisty, she would prove harder to use than Eredin had initially thought. He considered his next move, considered his approach. She had changed much since she had last been to Tir ná Lia. She was no longer a child, she was a young woman… but she was still a dh'oine.

He had placed her in a room under constant surveillance, realizing the dungeon would do nothing but make her more reluctant to cooperate and more eager to escape. And though he had taken measures to ensure it would never happen again—that she'd never leave Tir ná Lia, he still needed her to be less…resilient. Less averse.

He decided to pay her a visit, after all, he had almost managed to persuade her into giving in to him the last time. She had desired him, she had been attracted to him…he had not fully taken advantage of it, he had underestimated her. He would not repeat those mistakes.

Still, he had succeeded in his endeavor to bring her here. And he would succeed in persuading her to do what was needed—one way or another. How was not important. Only the result.

And with that thought in his mind, Eredin Bréacc Glas sat up and strode with firm, confident steps towards the room he had ordered Cirilla to be placed in.

Ciri leaned against the doorframe to the open balcony, staring at the cloudy night sky. There wasn't much of a star visible, in fact, there was nothing but coldness and darkness. She had found several lamps and candles throughout the room—and much to her surprise, she had also found a small torch she had used to ignite them. She had hoped they'd make the room brighter, warmer somehow. More reminiscent of days than of dark nights like this one, where there was barely a star visible in the sky and moonlight absent.

There was little to nothing interesting to do in her room—much like Ciri had expected, it was only more comfortable than the dungeon, but just as boring, just as much a prison. Not that she'd expect anything better from Eredin.

Suddenly, she heard voices. She turned to look in the direction of the doors to her room, where the sounds seemed to be coming from. It didn't take more than a few moments after the voices stopped until she heard the click of a key into a lock, but it was enough for her to tense up and prepare. She had no sword, but she wasn't helpless. If Imlerith had come to satisfy his sadistic desires, he was going to be disappointed.

But to her surprise, when the door opened—without a knock or any signal besides the click of the key and the turn of the doorknob—it wasn't Imlerith who stepped in. It was Eredin, his posture arrogant as ever and his gaze impassive, cold, though his attention was clearly on her. He seemed to regard her, to study her before he closed the door behind him.

And his presence here, though surprising, only sparked a rush of anger in her. "Eredin." She frowned at the elf. "Came to bathe me with your squalor-soaked threats you've been preparing for?" There was expectance and coldness in her voice as she regarded him with a glare and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Is that what this room," He gestured around them. "implies?" He raised an eyebrow. "You should show some gratitude, Zireael." There was a warning in his voice, beneath all that arrogance Ciri had grown accustomed to hearing.

"Gratitude?" Ciri asked rhetorically, somewhat disbelieving of his…expectations. "For what? For you keeping me prisoner here? Threatening my friends?" She continued, angry and accusing as she took a few steps towards the elf. And all she could think of in that moment was what it would be like to hit him. Hard. Maybe a punch would wipe that smug expression off his face.

The King of the Wild Hunt sighed. "You would not come otherwise. It had to be done, yet your loved ones are safe, while you, _luned_..." He took a few steps towards her, yet he was confident and calm in his movements. "Are given a privilege few prisoners have." There was something suggestive in his voice. Ciri didn't like it one bit—not in the current situation at least, not after what he'd done. Not anymore.

"Prisoners." She repeated. _"Of course."_ She thought to herself. She'd never been much in his eyes at all.

"Now tell me, Zireael, how are you liking the change?" He gestured around them.

"Nice room, a pity its empty." She began, pointing back in the general direction of the bookcase. She noticed his gaze follow her movements, yet it was so brief that she thought she might've imagined it. "Pleasant balcony, wonderful for breaking my neck." She spoke again, her tone laced with sarcasm.

"If you jump." He stated casually. "Which you won't."

"What makes you so certain?" Ciri put her hands on her hips. Her chains rattled and dangled, but she paid no heed to them—or to the stringing in her wrists.

For a few short moments, his gaze wandered over her body, sizing her up—but he quickly resumed his usual impassiveness as he spoke.

"The lives of your friends," Ciri's youthful face contorted in a scowl as her hands fell to her sides and her fists clenched. How dare he try blackmail her again? "The fact that you would not surrender without a fight…" He began approaching her. "I genuinely respect that about you, Zireael." He told her, and he saw the frown on her face fade. "It doesn't change much, but I suppose it is enough to make you more than a mere slave. A moth…" Ciri shook her head and scoffed, glaring at him once more.

"Get to the point." She told him coldly. "What do you want, Eredin?"

"Do I look like I come to request anything of you?" His tone dripped with arrogance and mockery this time. "I simply came to see how you are adjusting to the change, but perhaps the dungeon would, indeed, have been a better place for you—until you learn some discipline, at least." It was a warning, Ciri assumed. But she didn't give a damn about his threats.

"You told me once I'm nothing. Compared me to compost, called me a moth, now I'm just your prisoner." She said coldly, keeping the disappointment from showing in her voice as she remembered. Remembered what she'd felt towards him. Remembered how he'd treated her, how he'd tried to use her feelings to control her. "So why would you waste this beautiful room on someone like me?" She challenged him. Provoked him. He tilted his head back and regarded her with an icy stare.

" _Aen Hen Ichaer._ " The King of the Wild Hunt stated coldly. "That's what you are. Nothing more." He added, somewhat disdainfully.

And it was during times like this Ciri wondered how come she had not seen him from the beginning for who he really was—an uncaring, cruel individual. How had she ever…

"Your training starts early tomorrow." He suddenly spoke again, breaking her out of her thoughts. "And don't consider trying to escape, _luned_." He added darkly with a warning in his tone. "This isn't like last time. Those beasts won't help you now. You'll die if you try." She could heard disdain in his voice as he narrowed his eyes, measuring her gaze—and she stared him in the eyes with fearlessness and determination in hers.

"That's what you told me last time." She defied him, provoked him again. Dared him to tell her otherwise.

"And yet you still did so. Do you expect to get away this time too?" He inquired. "Little swallow, so naïve." He added with an arrogant smirk, regarding her as if she was a silly child with hopeless, foolish dreams.

"You'll make a mistake sooner or later, Eredin. And it'll cost you dearly." She glared, and this time, her voice was laced with contempt and certainty.

"Heh, if that thought is the only comfort you've left…" He chuckled mockingly. "But my mistakes are over, Zireael. You won't escape. You'll remain here, and when your training is complete you will open the Gate of Worlds." It was not request, only a statement, and there was no emotion on his face as he spoke. Even his smirk had faded, giving way to his usual distant and cold attitude. "It is your destiny." He added grimly.

Ciri scoffed and shook her head. Destiny had chosen wrong. She would not bring upon a second Conjunction just because Eredin wanted. She couldn't…

" _Va fail, luned_." He nodded to her briefly before he turned towards the door and walked away. Yet, Ciri did not pay attention to him anymore. And she couldn't help but wonder, was this truly her destiny? Did he know for sure? Or was he lying?

She heard the key lock the door once more—just as she'd expected. And she sat down on the bed, surprised that he had not even seemed interested in laying with her—even if that reason would only be having an heir to the throne of Tir ná Lia and preserving the Elder Blood. Was he so disgusted with her?

She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, rubbing her temples. Whatever training he had talked about, she knew she would have to be in good shape…to focus, and to assess her possibilities…maybe in his arrogance, Eredin would overlook something, something that would give her a chance to escape.

Or at least, she hoped it would be so, and as she allowed herself to fall on the soft mattress, her thoughts drifted to those she had left behind, shortly before the fatigue of having spent so long on the run took its toll on her and she fell into a deep sleep…

* * *

 _Sort of a cliffhanger here, but I am curious to read your speculations for the next chapters ;) Send them my way, pretty please :D_

 _I would also like to apologize for the long wait, I am very sorry but I have been quite busy with a lot of projects, including Witcher 3 modding, at which I've started improving although there's still a lot for me to learn. However, I wanted to get this chapter out as soon as possible but also as good as possible._

 _I've already started working on the next one though so that update shouldn't take this long._

 _ **But most importantly, I would like to thank you all** for staying around, for reading, for your time and for giving this fanfic a chance. I wasn't expecting so many readers and such positive feedback, but I am more than happy and grateful to you all. The Witcher truly is the best fandom I've ever been part of :D_

 _ **I thank my two beta readers as well:**_

 _ **Elainezireael** , for helping me solve the inconsistencies in the story and sharing her ideas and theories—conversations with you about the Witcher universe are truly enlightening, my friend, for both fanfics and mod ideas :D_

 _ **Vic-of-thor** , for reading, checking and suggesting ideas for this story, as well as his support from the very beginning—your support is much appreciated :)_

 _And **thanks also to a kind reader** —who wished to remain anonymous—for a suggestion she gave me that I found works quite nicely._

 _With this said, I'm looking forward to reading your opinions :)_

* * *

And the disclaimer of Tir ná Lia: **_I do NOT own anything, it all belongs to their rightful owners. I have only written this fanfic out of love and appreciation for the wonderful, complex universe of the Witcher. I make no profit nor do I intend to, I am simply happy to write my fantasies within this universe and happy that others find this story enjoyable. Many thanks also to CD Projekt RED for the masterpieces Witcher games, as well as to Andrzej Sapkowski for the masterpieces his books are._**


	4. Chapter 4 - Inside the Vipers' Nest

**The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt fanfiction**

 **A Different Path Taken**

 _Chapter 4: Inside the Vipers' Nest_

* * *

The sun's glow had just appeared on the horizon, its rays barely piercing clouds and casting shadows throughout Tir ná Lia. Yet Ciri had remained lost in her sleep, her back turned to the source of light, her breathing steady and calm. She did not dream. She did not rest so well either, and yet, the recent incidents had left her fatigued.

A sudden, loud thud came from the door, startled her from her sleep, her eyes snapping open, and she contemplated turning over to face the entrance. It sounded as if someone had just kicked it open, and for a brief moment, Ciri felt a flicker of hope grow inside her. Maybe Geralt—

"Your training starts today, girl." A familiar, harsh and disdainful voice grated her nerves. She sat up and glared at Imlerith—and at the guards following close behind him. Apparently they'd just burst into her room without as much as a knock, not that Ciri expected much in terms of manners from him of all people. _No, not people. Monsters_ , she corrected herself.

But Imlerith responded with a glare of his own, one so filled with contempt, malice, and cruelty that it sent a shiver down Ciri's spine… She had never seen him without his helmet before. His battle hardened features, the scars that marred his chin, jaw and left cheek told her he had served the Wild Hunt for a long time, or at the very least, that he was nowhere near short of experience…. Red paint in a pattern of three long streaks, stretched vertically from his forehead to his chin, dominating his features. He did not look too different from what she'd imagined when she thought of the day he would finally get the fate he deserved, the face and eyes she would stare at just before delivering the killing blow…

That day, however, much to her dismay, was still far.

Though both the guards and Imlerith were armed, Ciri risked glancing at the Aen Elle General's armor...armor that was much heavier than she was used to seeing. The Witchers and Geralt never wore armor as consuming, as demanding as that of the Wild Hunt members. Her gaze quickly attempted to find a weakness, anything…alas she did not have enough time, for he was almost entirely focused on her. She met his eyes once more.

Unlike Eredin, he exuded raw hatred and wrath, and a kind of cruelty that told her he was only obeying the orders of the only one who had somehow been able to keep him in check…or perhaps Imlerith himself enjoyed serving Eredin—after all, he was almost never denied killing, and as much as it disgusted her to think of it, torture….

Her hands balled into fists, but then her gaze then traveled over to an elf, one without armor, dressed in flowing, grey robes with intricately sewn navy blue designs and an amulet hanging by his neck. A mage. He started muttering something, his voice quiet, and shortly after, Ciri felt an even worse stinging sensation spread over her already red wrists.

He approached, his boots clanking loudly against the floor. She braced herself. Imlerith was the main reason she had ended up here. He was the one who'd almost killed Vesemir. Anger stirred within her, her hands clenched into fists, yet there was nothing she could do. Her shackles suppressed her power, but the way the mage focused on her, so intensely, so…forcefully made her wonder if the dimeritium bindings could truly keep her power from manifesting.

Numbness overcame her minutes later and her body turned heavy, her reflexes slow as she struggled to stand. That was why the mage had looked so focused.

Imlerith only smirked knowingly.

" _Damn!"_ She thought. He had come prepared.

There was little she could do when he gathered the chains and yanked her wrists, the spell was taking its toll on her—and it seemed to do the same on the mage, whose heavy breaths did not escape her notice—but she was sure she'd lose control had it not been for the shackles.

Without the slightest hesitation, Imlerith began dragging her by the chains he held so tightly, as if she were a slave or less—an animal going to slaughter.

He took her through a series of halls, descending stairways and, for a moment, Ciri thought he was taking her to the dungeon when they passed by its entrance. Especially when she saw Imlerith hesitate. She had planned to study her way out, to find something she could use in the palace, any opportunity, any chance…but with Imlerith around, her only instinct was to watch her back and wait for him to let down his guard. If only for a moment…she eyed the sword sheathed at one of the guards' hips. Her chains—at least the way Imlerith held them—did not allow much movement, which meant she would have seconds at most…

He jerked her chains, eliciting a yelp of pain as the dimeritium dug into her skin. She glared up at the cruel general, only to see him smirking sadistically.

And as she glared into Imlerith's hard amber eyes—only for brief seconds before he seemed to decide she was not even worth his glance and looked ahead—she couldn't help but think of the difference between now and the first time she had been here. The chains had not existed. She had not been dragged through the palace by a monster. She had been used by all, treated like a piece of meat, forced into doing things she had never wanted to do, but…Auberon had never been cruel. And somehow, that thought only made her despise Eredin even more than she had when he had used Vesemir's life to blackmail her. Her fists clenched as she narrowed her eyes—newfound determination coursed through her veins…

She would not let them get away with this!

Eventually they descended into a courtyard, open and wide—so much to the point she could not see it in its entirety, paved—so flawlessly that there was barely a patch of grass sticking out even next to the tall, imposing, seemingly impenetrable walls of the fortress. A lone, old tree's long branches, rich in rustling leaves cast its shades upon one of the few benches scattered near the walls the courtyard. This…was not quite what she had expected to see on her first day of training. Yet the warriors dressed in skeletal armor that now turned their attention towards her were no surprise. Some were stationed in groups of three at somewhat regular intervals, while others trained with an unusual amount of fierceness for a simple training session—as if they fought an enemy, rather than one of their own.

Still, when she entered they all only stood and watched. As if she was some exotic attraction, some kind of specimen, or an abomination that they strived to understand the secrets of—and destroy her in the process.

Imlerith too, stood and regarded her, with contempt and disinterest at the same time. But he did not seem even slightly worried that she may escape…as if his only task had been to drag her to this courtyard.

"Zireael." She turned to the one whose distorted voice commanded, broking no argument; Caranthir. Avallac'h's former apprentice, and apparently, the one who'd train her. He wore his full armor, his staff at the ready, his helmet concealing his face—he was a mysterious individual. Avallac'h had warned her of his nature. Thinking back of the elven sage, she did not find it surprising in the slightest, Avallac'h too was an enigmatic presence, secretive, silent…and dangerous. In this way Caranthir had borrowed some things from his mentor, but the cruelty, the lack of any emotion…that seemed to be a trait common in all of the Wild Hunt, one unmatched by most, even by monsters…

And her battle-honed instincts told her that unlike Imlerith, Caranthir was the kind of unpredictable danger…

She then noticed there were two others with him, one lean, with long brown hair that slipped so loosely from underneath the helmet, wearing Wild Hunt armor, but much slimmer and elegant—a woman, the first she had seen in their ranks—but she held a staff that glowed with white light, the kind that reminded her of frost… The other was clearly a male, not quite as sturdy as most warriors, but then, he was not just a warrior. Neither he, nor the woman. _Navigators_ , she realized.

"Are you prepared to begin?" Caranthir asked, a hint of mockery in his voice.

"Are you just going to stand there talking?" She shot him a harsh glare...and in response, the shards of ice in his staff glistened with unnatural light. She felt the weight of her chains diminish, almost disappear, though the stinging remained. She risked glancing at her wrists…which now bore only shackles, but not chains—what—

But upon taking a closer look, she saw them. The physical chains were now ghastly bindings, unrestrictive of movement, but at the same time frighteningly reminiscent of the specter forms of her captors… Still, she refused to show surprise. Refused to show anything that would give Caranthir any form of sick satisfaction. "Get on with it." A challenge—for she would not show fear, and they would not kill her. That she knew—they needed her.

"So be it." Caranthir replied coldly. "I shall guide you to open a portal, it won't be much, you cannot reach further than these training grounds so do not even think of attempting." The navigator explained. It had been his suggestion to test just how much she could do, and how well she could control it—after all, she was young and unpredictable in too many ways for them to risk another failure. His King had agreed to it, particularly because Avallac'h had always seemed to have his own hidden agenda, besides the one all of the Aen Elle had been so invested in. It was the reason he fled, Caranthir assumed. He did not have the strength to stand against the Dearg Ruadhri, nor was he a fool to try on his own. He found it amusing—how he had managed to convince the naïve Swallow he was on her side when he too dreamt of using her power. Harnessing Elder Blood. Or perhaps it had something to do with his past with Lara Dorren? Caranthir had never cared much for that, save when it came to the occasions to spite his former mentor. Much of what he knew had been from what Eredin had told him, and the tales the Aen Elle spoke of Lara Dorren, a traitor to their race and her bloodline. But there were things about the descendant's practices with Avallac'h that he did not know. He did not know how far he had pushed her or what her level of skill truly was.

And neither did Eredin. Though he did not look in his King's direction, Caranthir knew he watched them, just as they'd agreed. Whatever Crevan had taught the girl and whatever her performance had been, they did not know. Yet there were ways to find out….  
Eredin has insisted on him testing her skills, her capabilities. He had told him to punish her insolence and break down her hopes of escaping. Caranthir did not deny, at least not to himself, that it was the latter part that he knew he'd most enjoy.

And The King of the Wild Hunt was indeed watching…he stood in the shadow of the tall fortress walls, observing the Child of the Elder Blood ever so carefully. He knew she had not seen him. To his surprise, she had not tried to find him with her gaze—perhaps too busy with those who stood closer to her…

" _I suppose Caranthir is lucky her stare alone can't kill…"_ He thought to himself as he watched the young Swallow glare hard at his best Navigator. And somehow, his thoughts drifted back to the time they'd first met…She had been just a girl back then. A feisty one whom he had often caught staring at him, sometimes with a glare, other times with admiration she had tried so hard to conceal. It had been pathetic and amusing at the same time, it was then he had realized just how easily she could be manipulated. But he had not done enough. He had been careless, he had underestimated her.

Not this time. Never again. He turned his attention to her once more…

Ciri stood still, willing herself to activate her power, willing herself to use her ability…her curse.

"A portal, Zireael." Caranthir repeated sternly, darkly…almost menacingly. But she did not pay attention to him. Her gaze was distant, yet determined…this was it.

In a blink of an eye she was out of his sight—leaving nothing but a brief green flash to remind of her presence.

Caranthir forced himself to recover from his surprise, raising his staff, his keen senses attempting to pick up on any sign of her presence, of where she'd appear. She could not go far, but—

"Aaaarrgh!" A scream ripped through the training grounds, capturing the attention of the Red Riders—and their Generals.

Caranthir recognized the voice of one of the warriors, and he recognized the foolish girl yanking a sword out of the soldier's stomach as he stumbled back, blood gushing out of the wound she'd just inflicted.

 _Pathetic dh'oine,_ he thought to himself as he glared hatefully at the girl—who was now surrounded by four of the nearby soldiers. Her power was diminished—that he knew…and he couldn't help but find amusement in the thoughts of what would happen to her once she'd get caught. There was no way she could stand against so many-

But the elven sword Ciri wielded suddenly clashed with one of his warrior's before she twirled and dodged another's incoming blow, taking advantage of the small opening to slash at the small of his back. He groaned in pain, yet as he abruptly turned, as if pain only strengthened him, his axe cut into Ciri's shoulder just as she stepped sideways, forcing her to move back as blood slipped out of her wound.

It wasn't deep though. That she could tell.

The sounds of clanking armor coming from behind her warned her of a presence, and she wasted no time before she summoned the power inside her—and she was gone in a flash of green.

She had to get far away, she had to—

"Arrgh!" She stumbled back onto the training grounds of Tir ná Lia, forcing herself to shake off the dizziness and numbness in her limbs. The spell…she realized as she looked around…only to see more warriors of the Wild Hunt. "So be it," she mumbled as she took a deep breath, moments before breaking into a sprint, her sword at the ready—and they lifted their blades to parry her strikes, their swords on guard—then she was out of sight.

The two warriors glanced at each other, yet neither got the chance to say anything…

One of them screamed as he fell forward, his legs giving out from under him as a the sword Ciri wielded stabbed through the opening in his armor right at his knee. And she paid no heed to his roars of pain, turning her attention to his comrades instead. They were closing in, one with an axe, one with a sword. One approaching fast, the other more slowly.

Ciri deflected his incoming blow, the years spent training at Kaer Morhen returning to her as she twirled out of another blade's way…and slashed at her opponent's exposed side.

He growled and stumbled sideways, clutching at his side—rage radiated off of him, as did malice…he charged.

" _A witcher has equal chance of encountering sentient opponents as he does mindless beasts. In the case of the latter, they will charge blindly—which gives you a valuable advantage…."_ Vesemir's lesson echoed in her mind and flashed before her. She thought of him. Thought of Geralt. Thought of Yennefer. Newfound strength bubbled up inside her….

Ciri's eyes widened as the warrior raised his sword in an upward strike she knew she'd not be able to block….the Hunt's warriors were too strong. For her, and perhaps for most men…

She shut her eyes tightly as his sword descended….the glistening of his blade in the sun. Geralt's face.

" _Jump, little star,"_ The memory of the only friend she had made in this world…

And a flicker of light sent the warrior stumbling back, confused, annoyed. He looked around…

In less than a second she reappeared, and she did not give him time to as much as lift his blade—she slashed hard at his waist, and he let out a cry of pain as he stumbled and fell forward, blood gushing out from the opening in the mid-section of his armor.

He would get no mercy for her. Only the treatment a monster would get—that was what they all were. She slashed at the wounded warrior again, taking advantage of his slowed movements before she stepped sideways and kicked him, sending him staggering back, losing his balance… yet she had no time to revel, for something else, a movement, a noise caught her attention….

And just barely dodged an incoming strike of a warrior wielding yet another slightly curved sword…still he lunged again. She parried, putting all her strength into blocking his attacks as he forced her to step back, his attacks strong and furious. She did not dare look behind….nor did she close her eyes, yet in a flash of green she was gone. She had no time to recover from the sudden use of her suppressed power—she eyed the warrior who had turned around and was charging towards her….he seemed to be quite expectant.

 _Damn,_ she thought as she assessed her surroundings. There were four more warriors approaching, yet he was the closest. She took her fighting stance, eyeing the nearest soldier, summoning her power….

An angry, yet pained cry suddenly echoed through the courtyard as the Child of the Elder Blood slashed at the warrior, her attack unseen, her speed increased by the Power…. He fell to the ground, his armor and the ground below him now stained with blood.

She took several safe steps back, watching the soldier—he would not move anytime soon, if ever again. She had expected the others to lunge at her, yet they stood still. Something wasn't right…she raised her sword in guard.

A rush of cold air that blew past her sent a shiver down her spine, and she halfway turned in its direction, her weapon ready to cut into flesh…but she was unprepared for the sheer force at which her sword clashed with another's. A longsword with protruding spikes countered her blow with such raw strength that it took her by surprise, sending her stumbling back as the weapon flew from her hands, grinding across the paved ground before a strong hand tightly grabbed her throat, lifting her up enough for her feet to no longer touch the ground. She gasped, her hands clawing at his gauntleted hand.

"Now now, Cirilla, this won't do." He was angry. The sneer in his voice was clear, much like the rage on his face—one that reflected in his murderous gaze and icy eyes. There was no mercy in those eyes. "You will cooperate." The Aen Elle King told her darkly before he tossed her—and she was ready. Even as she gasped for air, she was prepared to jump to her feet. Yet her back hit plated armor as two strong, brutal hands gripped her arms painfully. She felt as if her bones would be crushed—and even the slightest movement sent a jolt of pain through her entire limb. "Unless you wish we bring someone to motivate you during our next raid?" He asked darkly, a subtle menace in his tone as the corners of his lips lifted slightly in a sly smirk.

"Don't you dare, you—"

"Do not dare attempt to escape again, _luned_." His expression was hard and cruel, his words cutting and promising. "This is your last warning."

And then without another word, he abruptly turned and strode away, denying her the chance to speak to him—to irritate him once more with her insolence.

"You won't get away with this, Eredin! Not this time!" She shouted after the King of the Aen Elle, but it was as if he couldn't hear her. She glowered after him—if only her gaze could have burned holes in his back….he had cut her off as if she was but a servant. He had threatened her, threatened her loved ones once more…as if he owned her life.

Then without a warning, her captor dug his fingers into his arms before he roughly tossed her to the ground as if she was nothing more than a piece of cloth. Nothing more than a damned object again. But one that they needed.

Ciri leaned on her arms, her teeth clenched, her palms pressed against the ground.

"Get up." A deep voice, cold as ice, suddenly ordered.

"I'm not your dog, Caranthir," Ciri retorted.

The navigator chuckled, darkly, mockingly. "Perhaps you can be something else…" He trailed off, casting a glance behind the Child of the Elder Blood, at Imlerith—who only stood there glowering disdainfully.

Before Ciri had the chance to speak again, the mage pointed his staff at her, and before she knew it, coldness crept through her bones as she fell into blackness—a portal. He had opened one right underneath her.

"What did you do with her?" Imlerith growled at him. "I do not wish to waste any more time retrieving this girl." He glared at the navigator hard as his hands balled into fists.

"I've simply…forced her to use that power of hers. Lest she drowns." Caranthir replied vaguely, yet so arrogantly.

Ciri did not have time to take a deep breath. She did not have the time to prepare—it was fast and lacking in hesitation on Caranthir's side—her vision blurred as her eyes stung at the sudden contact with water.

She did not know what lake Caranthir had deigned to drop her in. She did not know where she was, or what else was with her…no ray of light penetrated the water. No glistening could be seen above her.

She didn't have much time. She did not have Geralt's abilities. She needed to act fast—swim as fast as she could…

So she swam up—the lake was very deep. Too deep... There was still no ray of light, yet she continued. She _had_ to reach the surface. Her tired muscles ached at the frantic swimming as the breath in her lungs ran out.

Her arms suddenly hit something above her….something hard. Unyielding. She tried again, slowly, but she could not see what it was, only that it was hard, too hard. She swam sideways—she had little left, there had to be a surface. She tried again, a short distance away. The same hard, ceiling kept her underwater. She swam sideways again, until she felt a rocky point digging into her side. She attempted to swim up—and once again, she hit something hard. Rock hard.

 _No_ , she realized….there was no surface! This was no lake. It was a cave…

A gasp escaped her lips as the remainder of her breath ran out, her eyes stung, her lungs screamed for air she desperately wanted to give them as her heart beat feverishly, vibrating through her ribcage… her mind reeled for a solution as she frantically looked for a way out. A crevice, anything!

But there was nothing! She looked below, only to see what appeared to be a column, then another. Some ruins.

She was trapped, somewhere with no escape, no air!

 _I'm sorry, Geralt_. Sorrow choked her more than the lack of air when she thought of him… of Yennefer. Of their faces, smiling at her when she had returned to Kaer Morhen after all those years. She would never see them again. Not them, not Vesemir…

Not unless…she used her power. That was exactly what Caranthir wanted! Her eyes widened in realization, yet her eyelids grew heavy… She felt herself slipping away, slowly…perhaps this would be her end indeed.

She contemplated remaining there, in the water, maybe—just maybe their wicked plans of invading her world would no longer have a chance at happening, but then she remembered Avallac'h's words. Her world was in danger. The White Frost was approaching and she was the only one who could stop it. The only one who could save Geralt, Yennefer…everyone.

Ciri closed her eyes.

*********{[-(-)-]}**********

"Stupid girl must've drowned in whatever lake you sent her." Imlerith said grumpily. "It is a pity since she never learned her place—" But he stopped short when a flash of green light flared at the other side of the courtyard… The familiar Swallow lay on the ground, soaked, panting, but alive.

He looked to Caranthir, who seemed overly pleased with himself as he strode towards the girl. Clearly, she had been about to drown—her panting was desperate, frequent, deep. Imlerith couldn't help but smirk.

Ciri had been dreading it. Dreading the return, dreading their presences. The clanking of hard armor, closer and closer, warned her of the approach of one of her enemies, her captors.

"See, Zireael? You can use your power in a… _wiser_ way." Caranthir's voice dripped with venom and arrogance as he stood next to her, so much that Ciri wished she could watch him suffer…and die the slow death he deserved.

She'd not let him get away with that.

With a deep breath, Ciri stood up and latched onto him, gathering her strength…and they were gone in an instant, before Caranthir could push her away.

Eredin tensed and glared, but remained composed as his gaze searched for the Navigator and the Child of the Elder Blood. While he did not doubt Caranthir's skills, this had not been what they'd agreed upon. And he intended to make it clear to his Navigator that he did not want any unexpected incidents.

His fists clenched and his eyes narrowed; he would wait for Caranthir's return, lest he took too long, in which case…His gaze traveled across the courtyard. There were only two soldiers and Imlerith left nearby.

" _Ysgarthiad_!" He cursed under his breath.

Ciri had taken a great risk, but she had seen her chance at a possible escape…one that she would not miss. She could travel, at least to some extent—and she hoped it would be far enough. She focused her power as well as she could, and yet she suddenly felt as if she had no control over the trajectory. The frost crept in her very bones. Caranthir—

Then it came, swift, hard, like a an icy blade—Caranthir unleashed a wave of magic just as they were about to jump to another world, enough to weaken Ciri…

And then they were in the middle of an icy landscape, a cold world still marred with traces of lives that had struggled, only to come to an abrupt, untimely end…

Ciri grunted in pain, her ribs, her bones ached, and she laid on her back against something soft and cold. Snow? She quickly stood up, her hand reaching behind her back instinctively. Reaching…for a weapon that wouldn't be there.

That thought dispersed, however, as she gazed upon what appeared to be…a village? Or perhaps a city, buried beneath snow, yet its architecture somewhat resembled Tir ná Lia…she frowned.

"You see, Zireael?" A deep, knowing voice came from behind her. "This is the fate that awaits us all…lest you cooperate and do as you are told."

"No." Ciri turned to look at him, attempting to conceal the emotion, the thoughts, the turmoil that rose inside her at the thought of the countless lives lost in this place…and the ones that would be lost.

"You've no choice, Zireael." He told her. "No choice but to watch your loved ones die—if they aren't dead already." His attitude, unlike Eredin's, was a mix of taunts and arrogance. In some ways, worse than that of the King of the Hunt, in many ways bringing out the worst in her. Pushing her. Not as much as Imlerith did, but still…

Her power bubbled up inside her, ready to be unleashed even as her skin froze…then a weakening sensation began taking hold of her, her power evaporating, as if it was shattering, as if it was suppressed. She glared at Caranthir, then her gaze fell on his staff. Its usual glow had been diminished by the cold landscape to the point she had not noticed the orb of icy crystals had started glistening and shining. He swiftly twirled his staff, yet she dodged just in time for the icy blast to miss her.

She could feel him glaring, watching her—and somehow it unsettled her. Then he was gone in a flash of white light and ice, as if he had never even been there.

Ciri looked around; of all things she had expected, him disappearing like this had not been one.

She turned, paying attention to her surroundings; everything was empty. Deserted…white mountains that just barely reminded her of the highest peaks Kaer Morhen stood, imposing in the distance, blotting out an unnatural cold light...that was no sun. Or was it? White as snow itself, but it held no warmth. Just like the world itself...a world...where there was no life anymore. The wind howled, the ground beneath her was slippery, frozen...unsafe. And somehow not earth? She risked a glance down… only to see a chimney just below…

Which meant….most of the village had been buried!

A gasp escaped her lips as she snapped her head back up and scanned the horizon. All was the same! Buried in insurmountable snow, and not a soul in sight! Still, she forced herself to keep her instincts sharp in spite of whatever spell Caranthir had cast on her, but her movements were slow—or at least not fast enough to match one of the Wild Hunt's best.

And it turned out true.

A sudden, powerful cold wind blew past her and before she could react—dodge or even jump—the magic unleashed from Caranthir's deadly staff, sending her flying into the snow on her back.

Once more the frost entered her very bones, yet her head throbbed with pain—from Caranthir's magic, a hit, or the cold, she did not know. Caranthir's form loomed above her, the darkness in his eye sockets making her wonder…did he, like Imlerith, have any intentions to do something other than what Eredin had ordered? She grunted as she tried to jump, tried to move, but she wasn't fast enough. She had nearly managed to roll away when Caranthir's gauntleted fingers roughly wrapped around her arm, hoisting her up before he was gone in a flash of ice and cold wind.

Everything was dark, everything was cold. She could not see much, it felt… too rapid, or perhaps she was too weakened… Geralt had told her once, so briefly, of the Wild Hunt's chase through worlds. Had he felt like this? Was this what he had meant then?  
Her limbs froze, numbed…

Caranthir had been careful this time, he had increased the spell enough to keep her under control, to suppress her power, but not enough for her to lose consciousness. She was too unpredictable, too…naïve, to still think that she could evade Tir ná Lia once more.

He chuckled under his mask before he appeared, rather effortlessly, back to the private training grounds of Eredin's Dearg Ruadhri, with Ciri in tow. It didn't take long until he saw his king, who nodded to him in acknowledgement and started to approach, his steps firm and proud. But the navigator averted his gaze to the Child of the Elder Blood.

He threw her to the ground, his movements disdainful and arrogant as he came to stand in front of her, watching as she panted and shivered in spite of her hardest efforts not to show her discomfort.

 _Pitiful_ , he thought.

"Let this be a lesson for you, Zireael, and a gentle one at that…you cannot escape. You never will." Caranthir said, his tone laced with arrogance, malice and satisfaction. As if he mocked her for her desire to escape them.

"Don't be so certain, Caranthir. You don't know me." Ciri retorted as she gathered the strength to push herself up. She would not show weakness in front of them, she would not give Caranthir the satisfaction of seeing her weakened by his spells.

"I know more about you than yourself, Child of the Elder Blood." Caranthir replied arrogantly, as if he held some sort of knowledge that would grant him great power over her.

"I seriously doubt that." She replied.

 _If you knew me, you'd run while you still could._ But instead of voicing that, she stood up, measuring his hidden gaze with hers…provoking him. There would be consequences for what she'd just done-that was for sure. But she didn't care. Eredin had forced her to come with him, but she'd never submit to him. No matter what.

To her surprise, however, Caranthir only stepped back. She frowned, but before she could speak, the familiar name all of the Aen Elle called her by echoed in her ears…

"Zireael," His deep rough voice—impossible to mistake as belonging to another-called her, his tone harsh, but controlled nonetheless...yet something in it sent shivers down her spine.  
She did not even need to look at him to know who he was. That word and his voice brought back memories, words he had once said to her the last time she had been at Tir ná Lia…. Was he still thinking of that lesson in discipline he had so wanted to give her?

She looked up towards him; just like earlier during the training session, he wore no helmet, only his armor, one so different from those of the other Wild Hunt members, the unique shape of the upward pointing ribcage, the dominant dark red color of the main armor pieces that made him stand out from the rest almost as much as the helmet he usually wore—but much to her dismay, it too lacked vulnerable points. Yet now he also wore a long red cloak, whipping behind him in the breeze, clasped firmly in place by the seal on his shoulder. She could only recall seeing him wear such cloaks in his own world… the world she was now trapped in once again.

And though so much had changed since she had last been to Tir ná Lia, his appearance was one of the few things that had stayed the same… his tall, solid frame, his sleek black hair, flowing over his back and shoulders, the hardness of his facial features, his pale face, and those blue eyes, mesmerizing, piercing…and frighteningly cold at the same time. They had not been like that last time…they had not been this cold… Or maybe he had simply concealed it?

She found herself wondering, had he truly changed? Or had he just pretended then, in order to gain her trust?

 _Which he nearly did_ , and that was a thought that filled her with both anger and shame. She had been so close to falling for his tricks—and perhaps a lot had escaped her noticed because she had felt—no. That wasn't true. None of it had been true. And it was all in the past. Never to return, she refused it, as she always would…

A mix of conflicting emotions filled her, yet she pushed them back. She couldn't let him see anything. Couldn't let him see lest he take advantage of any feelings he'd sense inside her. For a moment she feared he might have just perceived it… but there was nothing to suggest he had…not on his face, which remained void of any emotion, not in his demeanor….

"First you injure my troops, now you attempt to escape. This will simply not do." Eredin told her darkly as he approached, his stride firm and confident, his sword hanging at his hip—Ciri eyed it for a moment before she forced herself to meet his icy gaze. "So from now on you _will_ do as you are ordered…" He narrowed his eyes.

"Screw you, Eredin!" She spat at him, glaring.

"Or one of your friends pays the price." He stood in front of her, towering, unyielding, dominant, and she could not help but stare. Which did not escape his notice, she realized when the corners of his lips lifted slightly in a faint grin.

For a few moments, the thought of reaching for his sword tempted her, then it dissipated…dissipated, because the confidence in his eyes told her that she'd have no chance. Not now.

"The sorceress…or maybe the witcher?" His tone was disdainful, and as if that was not enough, a mocking, satisfied smirk appeared on his lips. As if he knew what she feared...as if in spite of her efforts to conceal any sign of fear, to deny him the satisfaction-he knew regardless. Knew...and used that knowledge to blackmail her once more. And though she longed to deny him even that chance, the chance to use her, to threaten her...she could not do so, not without risking Yennefer and Geralt's lives. A risk she was not willing to take. She steeled herself and met his gaze.

"You'll not succeed." She said sharply, wishing so much she had a dagger nearby…

"Are you so certain, _luned_? So certain that you would provoke me to take their lives?" His challenge, cold, persuasive… and his malicious gaze bore into hers. She gritted her teeth and glared as hard as she could, yet the conviction glistening in his icy stare sent shivers down her spine.

"So be it." He tilted his head back and turned to walk away, his red cloak billowing behind him. "Imlerith!"

The Wild Hunt general started towards his leader, with those long strides of his and sadistic look upon his face. He seemed….eager.

 _Eager to kill. Eager to harm,_ It was a thought she did not voice, did not say aloud. A truth she had always known…and half denied, half feared.

Tears of pain and anger clouded her vision, but she held them back-even as he walked away, he was waiting for her to break. That was his way. That had always been his way, and yet...what if he did indeed managed to capture her friends? What if…. She closed her eyes to hold the tears back. No. She couldn't let them suffer such a fate...the Wild Hunt had come to Kaer Morhen because of her. But this time she'd make sure they'd not touch her friends...again, because of her.

As he walked away, the King of the Wild Hunt perceived her anguish. So strong...he found it rather amusing, how the simple thought of her loved ones could evoke such emotions, such feelings in her. Pathetic, true, but amusing nonetheless…and rather useful.

He did not look back as he walked away. Sooner or later she'd give in, this time she-and her friends, were at his mercy. He had none, for anyone, much less for _dh'oine_...and she knew it. He gestured to Imlerith, a simple flick of his wrist, pointing two fingers towards a host of warriors standing on the other side of the courtyard. The General nodded, and Eredin quickened his pace. He was done…for the time being, until Imlerith returned, or until….

"Wait!" As soon as the hesitant shout reached his ears, the King of the Hunt stopped in his tracks, smirking to himself, knowing he had won. There was a hint of fear and desperation in her voice—and as always, he knew her weakness would be her loved ones.

 _Pathetic,_ he thought to himself as he slowly turned around, regarding her with a triumphant yet icy gaze.

Ciri gulped and clenched her jaw, glaring at him to see him raise an eyebrow—perhaps at her hesitation, perhaps as a warning that he would not wait for long.

Either way there was no choice.

"I'll do it." Ciri told him. "But if you as much as touch them—"

"See? You can be a good little swallow." He strode arrogantly toward her, taunting her so easily.

"Just don't say you didn't get a warning, Eredin." Ciri glared at him.

"You would do well to remember, _luned_ , that this is not like last time." He stopped right next to her, turning his head sideways to regard her with his cold, arrogant and intense stare. "Your friends' lives depend on you. They can live, while you do what you are destined to do… or you can be the reason of their untimely demise." With that, he walked away, heading in Caranthir direction—the Navigator had been standing there motionless, carefully watching their exchange.

But Ciri remained silent. Words could not dissuade him from his decision, while threats did not reach him. He disregarded them—a foolish mistake on his part, Ciri thought. One that he'd come to see eventually.

She glanced down and closed her eyes; until then, she would have no choice but to obey him and his Generals.

 _Only for the time being._ That was a took a deep breath and opened her eyes, firing Eredin a sharp glare.

The King of the Wild Hunt nodded towards her before Caranthir started approaching, his staff in his hand, his demeanor telling her they were nowhere near done with her for today…

Not that she'd expected any less of them. She braced herself for whatever would come, her thoughts briefly drifting to those she had left behind…

"Your training resumes from this moment, Zireael." Caranthir's cold voice did not allow her thoughts to take shape. "And it seems that in spite of having spent so much time in Avallac'h's presence, you are…disappointing. Undisciplined. You do not know your purpose." He spoke with such disdain that Ciri would have thought he was speaking of his worst enemy, of someone who had brought him pain, someone he despised….then perhaps he did. But why, Ciri did not know. Nor did she care too much to begin with.

She gritted her teeth. "I know my purpose well enough…I know it's not to open your gateway." She retorted, and the look in her eyes would have sent shivers down the spine of any man. But not _them_.

An image flashed before her.

 _The striking of a lightning, a dark figure standing on the bow of a boat. His hateful, arrogant gaze as he dueled her before her sword pierced his thigh. Before he tumbled into the water, wounded, bleeding, washed up on the shore…and still he had not screamed, he had made no sound. They knew neither fear, nor pain._

Then she faced Caranthir once more as a strange kind of frost rippled through her.

"You cannot escape your destiny. It seems you shall find out the hard way." There was an eagerness, a dark edge in his tone that made her feel sick. As if he wanted this….as if he looked forward to it. Elder Blood stirred in her veins. Her power rose inside her.

"It would be a better choice if you surrendered now, Zireael…you waste your gifts attempting to stand against us." Had she not known him, she'd have thought it was a warning. Just a warning. But no.

"I wonder whose power is a greater waste. Mine, or yours?" He stopped in his tracks as she held his stare. "Elder Blood can stop the White Frost that threatens all worlds…while you…bring a few soldiers who can only raid isolated villages." She gestured in his general direction.

He took a deep breath as an icy shiver forked down her spine. She had touched a nerve. Badly. The shackles burned her skin—so much that she barely resisted the urge to look away from him, at her wrists, which she was sure were bleeding by now. But she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

"Avallac'h's filled your head with nonsense." When he finally spoke, his tone was impassive, yet it held the slightest tint of irritation there. She couldn't help but wonder if total impassiveness was a necessary trait of the Wild Hunt warriors. "His views on the Dearg Ruadhri have always been….narrow. He did not see the future for what it could be." Once again his voice was laced with disdain and arrogance. "It proved to be his downfall—remember that as well, Zireael."

For a moment, Ciri contemplated telling him about Avallac'h. She considered telling him that his king's plan had failed…but she decided against it. It was better if her friends had the advantage of surprise. Better if they thought Avallac'h was still a mindless creature….

"You owe him everything, Caranthir, including your life." She told him sharply, meeting his invisible gaze with strength and a challenge. Yet she gave him no indication that Avallac'h was well.

"Naïve girl. He taught you just enough to use you." He replied as he readied his staff.

"Take us to the royal stables, where we arrived from those _ruin_ s." It wasn't just the words he used to refer to her home, it was also the disdain in his voice that made anger boil in her veins.

She fought the urge to snap at him, fought the urge to use her power in a different purpose. It would only give Caranthir—and all those like him—the perfect opportunity to mock and blackmail her. Again. She could not let that happen. Not now….

She gulped hard, clenching her fists, meeting Caranthir's gaze. "You'll have to step closer," she told him.

He tilted his head back, as if regarding her suspiciously, before he came to stand next to her, tall, expectant…ready.

The spell's intensity decreased—it was no opportunity to escape, but perhaps, perhaps the destination could be different…their armory, maybe?

 _No._ It would be too obvious…and too risky to do when she didn't know for sure where it was. It had to be nearby.

"Now, Zireael," the powerful Wild Hunt Navigator ordered.

Ciri took a deep breath and thought back to the dreaded arrival at Tir ná Lia. Her memories were hazy, yet…she knew the place. In a flicker of green light, they were gone.

Not even a second appeared before green light flashed elsewhere in Tir ná Lia—but it was not where she had been told to teleport.

The frantic neighing of horses split the air as they landed, the scent of hay and stable entered her nostrils… Her eyes quickly fell on locked stalls, on bars from behind which frightened and curious eyes stared at her…and at the mage next to her.

"Pathetic. I expected far better from a Child of the Elder Blood." Caranthir's tone was half filled with disdain and half filled with a disguised challenge as he spoke.

"It's the spell, it's weakening me. I couldn't teleport where I intended," she replied, assessing her surroundings.

The royal stables of Tir ná Lia….they were unlike any other stables she had seen before. Not only was it very large and wide, containing a great number of horses, its structure also looked uncanny to Ciri. It seemed to be made entirely of stone, with white columns at the entrance, clearly well cared for—there was not a speck of dirt on the floor, nor was there fallen hay laying in the open area. And though the horses too seemed well cared for, Ciri could not believe they were happy. Not when she remembered the foam trickling from Eredin's stallion's mouth as his rider yanked the reins….

"Do not make excuses, Zireael. And try harder this time—lest you wish I bring you motivation." Caranthir's voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned to look at him with narrowed eyes, not even bothering to conceal her contempt…once again he threatened her for not rising to his expectations because of his spells.

She took a deep breath. "Weaken the spell and I'll teleport where you want me to." She told him.

"No. It is just as weakened for you to take us where I tell you to…if you choose to cooperate." His voice expressed a warning. Her last one, that much she knew.

"Are you going to keep berating me or can we move on?" She frowned.

The navigator tilted his head back and inhaled sharply—the girl was getting on his nerves.

"Take us…to the eastern borders of Tir ná Lia." It was a simple order—he did not even make sure she knew the location.

And indeed, Ciri was not quite sure where that was. All she knew was that she could not afford to fail again. Swallowing her disgust, she moved closer to him and closed her eyes, disappearing along with the powerful Navigator in a flash of green light.

She stumbled back a step or two when they landed, feeling a rush of cold air slip through her clothes—which did not offer much protection against coldness. Dried grass lay at her feet, the earth a dark brown shade—and a short distance away, snow. Far ahead, a great portion of land covered by snow.

 _A world that faces the threat of annihilation_ , she reminded herself. The Aen Elle were conquerors, Eredin's soldiers in particular…and yet, as she stared once more at the barren land, as she remembered the village where all life seemed to have ceased so soon….she no longer thought of the Red Riders. She thought of people, whose lives depended on…what? Invading another world? Her facing the Frost and destroying it?

She felt eyes on her, felt what she'd learned to recognize as a gaze of disdain…or one that regarded her as an abomination. As she looked around, her eyes fell on several soldiers, wearing skeletal armors specific to the Wild Hunt. Six soldiers.

"See, Zireael?" His voice grated her nerves. If only he had left her here. Six soldiers of the Wild Hunt were still better than him being there. "Things could have been so much simpler."

She chose not to reply. Not to react. Only now did she understand how different Caranthir was from Avallac'h. He was secretive, mysterious, and powerful—but that was all he had in common with the Sage. He was just like Eredin and Imlerith in everything else—cruel, malicious, arrogant, taking pleasure in the suffering of others, no matter its nature. Yet, unlike Imlerith, he did not provoke her through violence. He was calm and controlled, with no need to impress, no vanity to put him at a disadvantage. He was dangerously calm…

"You have six seconds, Zireael, to take us to our next destination: the grounds of the Palace of Awakening." Ciri's eyes widened, and if Caranthir said anything else, she did not hear it. Memories of her time at Tir ná Lia, of Auberon…of all that had happened returned to her as if it had been only yesterday…she squeezed her eyes shut, a green light enveloping her—and against her will, Caranthir as well.

Her thoughts were focused on the shore of the river Easnadh. Or a lake, anywhere! She had to get there, she had to—no…she was going there and yet….her trajectory changed, her power diminished. Her wrists burned.

She gasped and grunted when she landed, the sudden unnatural coolness sending shivers through her entire body, yet it was a welcome change for her seared wrists. Several voices mumbled around her, while a displeased growl came from behind...

"Once again, Zireael, you choose to disobey." Caranthir said darkly.

"You took us here!" Ciri shouted angrily, attempting to mask the pain, to keep it from showing in her voice…this was not the place she had intended to reach. It was a garrison of soldiers, all wearing red cloaks, all whose gazes were fierce and disdainful.

"You brought this upon yourself, Zireael…." He pointed his staff at her. "And should you disobey one more time…your friends will feel the consequences." There was an eagerness in his voice that frightened and angered her at the same time, but she had no time to react. Ice crept in her very bones, as if it cut her, as if splinters of frost ripped through her. She couldn't hold back from crying out as Caranthir came closer and the pain intensified.

Then suddenly it stopped, and she fell to her knees, panting heavily. And though his helmet concealed his face, satisfaction radiated off him. As if the simple fact that she was shackled and at their mercy amused him, as if he took pleasure in it…her lips twitched in anger and disgust. She was determined to deny him that triumph.

With a loud cry and determination, Ciri charged at him, in spite of the way her power started diminishing—Caranthir's doing, no doubt—yet she thought of the barren land filled with dangers she had crossed the last time she had evaded from Tir ná Lia… If she lost him there, if his attention was caught by some dangerous beast, maybe she would escape, maybe he'd be injured enough to buy her friends time…time to prepare.

They were gone in a flash.

But coldness crept into her very bones once more, everything around them was spinning, and she knew they should have reached the forest by now…

 _No_ , she thought desperately as her power weakened and her wrists burned underneath the shackles—which somehow, seemed even tighter than before.

She let out a gasp of pain when they landed, her body shivering as her bare hands touched paved ground…and when she looked up, her suspicions were confirmed. Once more they were in a different place than the one where she had tried to land. Once again the Wild Hunt navigator had somehow manipulated her power. She looked around—there were fewer warriors here, clearly, it was not a garrison…in fact there seemed to be nothing to do here, yet six armored warriors stood, some with axes, some with swords, all watching her. As if they had been waiting for her.

Ciri's eyes widened. _They had been waiting….they had known…_

She glanced at Caranthir, clenching her fists, drawing her brows together as she glared at the Wild Hunt General.

His only noticeable response was a subtle nod of his head—perhaps an order to the soldiers that surrounded them? She glanced back and around them; they made no move.

"Do you understand now, Zireael? There is no more escape for you this time." His voice held arrogance and triumph, to such an extent that she too was tempted to give in—only for a moment, yet the temptation had existed.

And as she stood there, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by the warriors of the Wild Hunt, she thought of home. Of Kaer Morhen, of the siege…back then she had been surrounded too, by more warriors, more magic….and three of the most powerful members of the Wild Hunt. And as she glanced down at her wrists, at the shackles and the burnt skin underneath, she understood even better than before why no slave dared to resist. Why their eyes held no hope, almost no life….why they dropped to their knees even at the sight of her.

But she did not let her sadness and grief take hold of her—she couldn't. That was what they wanted. That was something she would deny them from the very beginning.

Caranthir watched the Child of the Elder Blood, seemingly lost in her thoughts for a few moments, as if she contemplated something. Another attempt to escape? He wondered. If that was the case, he was determined not to waste any more time in showing her the error of her ways. Grief appeared on her face, sorrow…and then she looked back at him. Instead of pain and despair, as he'd expected to see, he saw strength. And perhaps doubt too…but it was almost overshadowed by her determination.

He tilted his head back. Was this what had made Avallac'h betray them? Was this why he had taken an interest in her? Or was it just her Elder Blood that he too had plans for? Eredin had mentioned Avallach's ties to the girl's ancestor, Lara Dorren—and her rejection of the Sage for a mere _dh'oine_. Perhaps that too had something to do with it…

Caranthir did now know. Yet he was determined to fulfill the task with which his king had entrusted him. And determined to teach the girl who were her masters.

He stepped towards her, meeting her glare with his hidden gaze. He was nowhere near done with her for the day…

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed this chapter and sorry for the long wait, but I really wanted this chapter to be as good as it can be. And it was a busy time for me, lots of projects—most Witcher related, though…so this time, along with the chapter, I am posting the links to the 3 Witcher fanvideos I made :)_

 _Eredin and Ciri – Phantom of the Opera: watch?v=XpEWpwUaVLw - this one is the hardest video I have ever made in 8 years, but working on it was very enjoyable and I am happy with how it turned out. I wrote a short story in the description of that video too, if you'd like to check it out. I'm actually thinking of eventually making into a longer fanfic :D_

 _Wild Hunt (fan)trailer - watch?v=93tn92HCXR0 - this is my second trailer which I wanted to focus on the Wild Hunt, to show who they are, with a different perspective: powerful individuals with ranks and duties of their own, expert swordsmen with a vast knowledge of magic arcana; united, a deadly force from another world, known and feared by all. The video was challenging, but I loved working on it, so much that I still miss it :D I hope you will enjoy watching it :)_

 _Witcher 3 main storyline (fan)trailer – watch?v=sqafWyNo8sw - my first trailer ever, I tried my best on this one, as with all else._

 _I would love to read your opinions on the videos and this chapter—not only are reviews a great motivation for me but they also help me improve, plus, I am always curious and enjoy reading them :) So any would be much appreciated, regardless if you prefer sending them in comments or privately—here, on Tumblr, DeviantArt, YouTube._

 _And speaking of DeviantArt, I finally got an account there :D I will post fanfic cover photos, photo edits, video screenshots, maybe even modding screenshots if you want. Here's the Deviantart link to the newest cover photo for this chapter: challengeofthedark/art/Witcher-3-A-Different-Path-Taken-Cover-part-2-786994391 (I'll also put it on my profile since fanfiction net hates links)  
_

 _Last but not least, **I would like to thank (in no particular order)** ,_

 _The awesome beta readers:_

 _ **Elainezireael** , for all her advice, suggestions, theories and ideas—A Different Path Taken started out as an idea that I was not quite sure which way would go, it is a lot thanks to you that it now has a clear direction. Your help in developing this fanfic and your support is much appreciated! Also nice choice of title for this chapter, credit for it goes all to you :)_

 _ **Celticbabs13** , for her patience, advice, teachings and help—thanks to your careful corrections and very helpful writing advice this chapter is so much better! Thanks a lot, for all the help and support you have given me, I appreciate it very much :)_

 _I am grateful to you both and consider myself lucky to have such wonderful beta readers for this story :)_

 _ **Rosenazair** and **WholeLottaTiffy** , as well as a **very kind reader** who preferred to stay anonymous (you know who you are!) for their continued support. It truly means a lot to me._

 _And of course, **I would like to thank each and every one of you wonderful readers** , for your time, support, for staying around and for giving this fanfic a chance :) Thank you for the continued support, as well as to those who let me know their opinions of the previous chapters. __I was happy to read them, reviews and opinions are the best thing any writer can get-they help with the improvements greatly!_

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 _The disclaimer of Tir ná Lia: **I do NOT own anything, it all belongs to their rightful owners. I have only written this fanfic out of love and appreciation for the wonderful, complex universe of the Witcher. I make no profit nor do I intend to, I am simply happy to write my fantasies within this universe and happy that others find this story enjoyable. Many thanks also to CD Projekt RED for the masterpieces Witcher games, as well as to Andrzej Sapkowski for the masterpieces his books are.** _


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